Nox
by Universal Blue
Summary: A fifth year AU. Harry has to deal with a new year at Hogwarts, Voldemort coming back, and Draco Malfoy. (future HPDM)
1. Prologue

**Title**: Nox  
**Author**: Universal Blue  
**Disclaimers**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Summary**: A fifth year AU. Harry has to deal with a new year at Hogwarts, Voldemort coming back, and Draco Malfoy. (future HP/DM)

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**Nox / June**

_I'm sorry for the times that I made you scream  
For the times that I killed your dreams  
For the times that I made your whole world rumble  
For the times that I made you cry  
For the times that I told you lies  
For the times that I watched and let you stumble_

_(Nobody's Wife / Anouk)_

**Prologue**

Two boys sitting by a lake. Their feet paddling in the cool water, their trousers rolled up and both boys with their Hogwarts robes off. Two pairs of shoes and socks lay on soft green grass, away from the mentioned boys.

The sun was setting in the horizon; the sky in front of the boys was dyed in deep pink, decorated with a few orange stripes. The big orange-red ball that was the sun, started to fade away behind the mountains surrounding the Hogwarts grounds. The sky behind the boys was already turning a darker shade of blue than it was an hour ago. The moon, in the shape of a banana, was shining in a pale light up in the sky. But the boys couldn't know this, because they didn't look back; they never looked back. They didn't need to anymore.

One boy had blond hair, so fair that one could mistake it for white, if one didn't give it enough observation. The other boy had black hair darker than Voldemort's soul, one had the desire to touch it just to see if one's hand would come out painted in black. One boy had grey knowing eyes. eyes that show almost nothing. The other boy had bright green eyes, eyes that shine with innocence and purity, yet show years of seeing enough horrors to give a grown wizard nightmares.

Both boys were marked for eternity; one on his arm, where a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth was imprinted onto his pale, delicate skin. The other on his forehead, where a lightning-bolt scar was, making him stand out in all of the Wizarding world. Both were marked by the same wizard.

Two, almost exact, opposites of each other that had managed to find their way to one another in the dark curves of this world. Two souls that combine into one; each filling out the other. Two that will always have each other to hang onto when it's too hard to stand by yourself.

The two boys have been through enough. Now was their time to rest and pull themselves together again. Now they were waiting for tomorrow, which may or may not show up. They had to hope.

The green-eyed boy laid his head on the other one's shoulder and reluctantly closed his eyes. "So this is it, Draco, this is how it ends?" he half asked, half stated to the second boy. This was the first thing either wizard had said in the five hours they had been sitting there.

The fair haired one bent down to kiss the other boy's forehead. "No, Harry," he replied, "this is only the beginning."


	2. Where There Are Beginnings

**Title**: Nox  
**Author**: Universal Blue  
**Disclaimers**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Summary**: A fifth year AU. Harry has to deal with a new year at Hogwarts, Voldemort coming back, and Draco Malfoy. (future HP/DM)

* * *

**Chapter 1 – _Where there are beginnings_**

_It started, like most good stories do, at the beginning._

Snow; white and pure, and the first of this season. Harry couldn't help but grin. The snow was at least two feet high, making your feet drown in it. The trees in the Forbidden Forest were all white. It all looked so peaceful.

Harry stepped down the stone steps, and stopped at the very end of them. The first time _anyone _touched this snow should be delicate. It was about 5 a.m. and in a few hours there would be lots of children – big and small, running around in the snow, having a snowball fight, making snowmen – all those things that made them happy, like there was no care in the world. But Harry knew better, he knew about all the cares in the world – not only his, but of the sick and poor, unloved and unwanted, different and un-welcomed. And all _he_ wanted to do right now was to be the first to touch that snow. To be the one that saw how brilliant it was – lying there, untouched. The first snow had something magical in it. He also wanted to be the one to abolish that sheer perfection, for nothing that beautiful was bound to exist. Everything that was pure and beautiful in this world was doomed to be destroyed. For men had to touch everything pretty that they saw, and everything _that_ pretty would break by a single touch.

He bent down slowly, then spooned a ball of snow in his palm. He was the first person to touch the first snow of the season, and it felt great. The snow was cold against his hand, but he didn't mind. It had a soft, delicate, almost fragile texture. He crushed the snow in his palm, then let it go.

Harry ran all the way to the Quidditch pitch. Panting, he popped himself into the snow. He just lied there, arms and legs spread, for Merlin knows how long.

---------

Ron was walking down the steps to the Common Room. One step after another, he was taking his time - he was still a bit dozy from sleep. Hermione was there, sitting on one of the sofas. She had a large tome in her lap, and a parchment lied on the table in front of her, lines of words written in ink drying on it.

"Good morning, Hermione," he greeted, sitting down next to her.

"Good morning, Ron," she said, keeping her eyes on the book.

"Have you seen Harry?" Ron asked.

This time Hermione did take her eyes off what she was reading. "No," she answered, "Why, is he not in bed?"

"Nope. Thought you might have seen him."

"Where could he be so early in the morning?" her voice had an edge of panic to it.

Ron looked at the Common Room clock, which indicated it was 07:15 – breakfast hasn't even started yet, and it was a Saturday. "Don't worry," he flashed her a reassuring smile. "I'm sure he hasn't got himself in trouble."

But Hermione did worry. Because it was Harry, and when left alone, Harry could wander off, run into a Dark Lord, and get himself killed. These are the kind of things Harry tended to do. So she made Ron follow her around the castle, in search of their lost wonder-boy.

"I think I saw him outside, in the Quidditch pitch," a fifth year Hufflepuff told them. And so they went to the Quidditch pitch, in thought they'd find Harry practicing in flying, but instead they found him lying in the snow.

"Harry!" Hermione called out, running to her friend, Ron right behind her. "What are you doing, lying around in the snow like this? You will catch a cold! How long have you been down here?"

"Don't worry, 'Mione, I've only been here for a little while," he lied, flashing her a shy smile. He grabbed the hand she reached out for him, to help him get to his feet. Hemione felt how cold his skin was from the snow, and a chill went down her spine.

---------

Snow; white and pure, and the first of this season. Draco thought of how much the snow resembled him – it was pale, cold, and always when it came everything seemed bad. Draco was walking along the grounds of Hogwarts, and contemplating things that were to be contemplated. All around him there were entities who didn't interest him at all, therefore he chose to ignore their un-welcomed presence.

As he was walking his eyes caught the site of the infamous Gryffindor trio. He wondered what they were up to, and stopped to look at them. Potter - that boy caused so much confusion in Draco's otherwise peaceful mind.

After a few more minuets of staring, Potter looked up and caught Draco's eye. He was doing it on purpose, Draco thought, glaring at the boy. Potter was like a teaser, saying to him – "think you've figured out the world? Well, try figuring me out!", and of course Draco couldn't, which made him confused and upset.

Something white and fast was making it's way towards Draco.

"Ouch!" Draco launched forward, as a large snowball hit him in the back. He glared at the second years having a snowball fight a few feet away. Biting his bottom lip, he went back to his walk.

'Damn Potter,' he thought, 'It is all his fault.'

---------

_Maybe it didn't start there at all, maybe it started slightly more than a year before._

September 1st. The huge oak front door of the old castle swung open with a slight blast, and in waltzed non other than Harry Potter. He stopped in his haste, panting. His breath was heavy and shaking, and he brushed jet-black locks of hair and sweat out of his face, unintentionally revealing his famous scar. He was only vaguely aware of the stunned first years that were in the Entrance hall also.

---------

In the Entrance hall stood a group of nervous first years, talking in hushed, trembling voices amongst themselves. Hagrid had left them in there, telling them to wait.

Suddenly a blast could be heard from behind. Some newly students gave a start at the offending sound, some actually jumped a foot in the air. Nonetheless, all had averted their little eyes to watch the young man that stumbled into the hall. His face was red and his mess of night black hair was sticking out in all directions, some of it was glued to his face by sweat.

As Harry exposed his scar, the newly first years started whispering.

"Harry Potter!" whispered a brown haired girl in awe to the black-eyed boy beside her.

"Is it really?" asked the boy in return.

"Of course it is!" said another girl that joined their conversation.

But it didn't matter, 'cause Harry didn't hear them, and it wouldn't matter even if he did.

Harry ran all the way from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts, only stopping once in a while to catch his breath. Harry stayed in the hall for a minute only to gather himself; for he had come from the outside, where it was freezing cold into Hogwarts, where it was nice and warm; he was sweating from the long run.

He was also shaking, and every inch of his body hurt, especially his scar, which was burning. He was about to keep on going into the Great hall, but was stopped when the double doors opened by themselves and Professor McGonagall came in.

"Welcome first yea—" the Professor started saying but cut herself off as she noticed the small form of Harry Potter in the Entrance hall. Harry was once again fighting to control his breath. "Mr. Potter," she spoke again. "What is going on?" though she had a slight idea.

"It's _him_. It's Voldemort." Harry barely managed to say as darkness started to surround his, and he finally gave up and let himself fall.

---------

Some of the girls screamed and one boy started crying; but was it because Harry had said the Dark Lord's name, or because he had just fainted in front of them, one couldn't tell. Probably both.

Professor McGonagall told them all to be quiet. "Stay here," she said sternly. "And don't you dare move until I return." And with that she took her wand out, muttered a spell that made Harry float a few feet in the air, and disappeared up the marble steps, Harry Potter floating casually behind her.

---------

It was the start-of-term feast and everyone was in the Great Hall. At the staff table there was quite a commotion; the Professors were all talking amongst themselves energetically. Dumbledore looked concerned, McGonagall, at his side, was talking to him frantically. Beside McGonagall sat Snape, he was looking unnerved as well.

Potter didn't bother to show up on the train to Hogwarts, though Draco had a vague idea about what happened to him. He saw McGonagall leaving the hall to bring in the new first years. A minute after a few screams were heard, and everyone in the hall looked expectantly at the double doors.

Snape immediately got up and went to see what was going on. A few more minutes passed by and then Snape showed up again. He whispered something into Dumbledore's ear, and in return the old man nodded his head, a calculating look on his face.

Whispers started to break among the staff table. Someone who set relatively near it caught a few words and told the person that set next to her, who told the person that set next to him, and so on. Finally, the rumor got to Draco. It was merely two words.

_"Harry Potter."_

---------

A couple of girlish screams were heard, coming from the Entrance hall. Professor Snape went to see what had happened. When he got there, all he found was a bunch of scared first years, two of them were crying.

"What happened?" Snape barked at one boy, who looked as if he was about to cry too. "Well?" he asked when the boy didn't respond.

"Ha-Harry P-Potter, s-sir," the boy stuttered. "He was h-h-h-here, s-sir, and then—"

"And then he fainted!" said a girl with a squeak, cutting in.

"And the lad-dy took him there," the boy pointed at the marble steps.

"Stay here," hissed Snape to all of them, and left the hall.

And so they did.

---------

Madam Pomfrey was in her office, checking her stoke of potions for the third time. There really wasn't much to do in the Infirmary most of the time. She heard the infirmary door burst open, and hurried footsteps coming in. She cursed under her breath, and stepped out of her office. Who the hell could it be? It was the _first day_ of the school year!

Potter. She should have known better; the boy was a trouble magnet.

"What have he done this time?" she asked the pale faced Minerva McGonagall.

"Poppy! This is no time to get angry at the boy!" she said firmly. "You Know Who had him. We have no idea what he's been through." McGonagall's voice was shaky, but still very firm.

Madam Pomfrey immediately started checking and healing the boy in front of her. In the meanwhile Professor McGonagall left the infirmary, to perform the Sorting ceremony on the scared-to-death first years. She sighed; the show must go on.

---------

After the ceremony Dumbledore made a small speech and introduced the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, after which he disappeared to God-knows-where. Actually, most students knew where he went; it was fairly obvious to anyone who was following the events – Dumbledore went up to the infirmary, to check up on Harry Potter.

What exactly happened to The Boy Who Lived? No one was sure. Some rumors said that You Know Who came for Potter that summer, and Potter tried to fight him, then Potter was put in a Muggle hospital, and couldn't make contact with the Wizarding world. Some went so far as to say that the boy finally realized that He Who Must Not Be Named would probably kill him, and he went berserk and ran away. Some were almost accurate, others stretched as far as the human imagination went.

Harry's friends were all very worried. The Gryffindor house table was relatively quiet. Ron and Hermione both didn't eat a thing, and once in a while looked at the door, as if expecting the wonder boy to show up at any minute.

---------

It was all black, or maybe was it white? Harry couldn't remember. He opened his eyes slowly, and at first he couldn't see a thing. He tried to get up but found that he couldn't move – he didn't have the strength to.

"He's awake!" he heard someone whisper then rush beside him – Madam Pomfrey?

Harry blinked a few more times, and after a while could see blurry figures. Then his glasses were put on his nose, and the world came to focus. Harry could recognize Dumbledore standing just a couple of feet away from his bed. Madam Pomfrey was at his right, checking his arm.

"Hello, Harry," said the Headmaster, approaching the boy on the bed. His face wasn't twinkling like it had usually.

"Hello, Professor," Harry tried to smile feebly. He looked around at Madam Pomfrey, and saw that the witch was leaving to her office.

"How are you feeling?" the old man asked.

"How is it, sir, that you're always here when I wake up?" wondered Harry quietly.

At this Dumbledore's face broke into a smile. "We were all very worried about you," he told Harry. "Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger will be thrilled to hear you woke up, and I'm sure they'll want to see you first thing in the morning."

"What time is it now?" Harry turned in his bed in an attempt to find a clue as to what time it was. It was the first time he bothered to look at his surrounding, and so he just now realized that his bed was separated from the rest of the Infirmary. Unfortunately there was no clock in there to tell him the time – but he could see through the window that the sky was dark.

"It is very late, my boy, you should get your rest," Dumbledore once again was grim.

"But –"

"No, Harry, you'll have time for questions later."

And there was no room for arguments, for at this very second someone burst into the Infirmary, and the unmistakable voice of Cornelius Fudge could be heard throughout the Infirmary. "Dumbledore! Are you here?"

"Quiet! Quiet in here!" Madam Pomfrey's voice was heard as well. "Oh, it is you, Minister Fudge. Do keep quiet, I have patients in here."

But Fudge was ignoring the nurse, he walked to where Harry's bed was, and opened the curtains. "Professor Dumbledore!" Fudge sounded infuriated .

"Minister," the Headmaster greeted.

"Will you," he gave Harry a look, "have a few words with me outside?"

Dumbledore nodded slightly, then turned to leave with the Minister. "I will talk to you later," he said to Harry, who made a gesture to show his understanding, and then the two men left the room.

---------

"Dumbledore," said Fudge the minuet the door closed. "With all due respect, I, as the Minister if Magic, am ordering you to stop whatever it is you're doing behind my back. You are not allowed to hide things like Harry Potter disappearing, from the Ministry. And you are defiantly not allowed to tell the students silly things as 'You Know Who getting back to power'!"

"Mr. Fudge, you still don't believe that Voldemort is back to power?"

"_He_ is most certainly not, and kids should not here such... such lies."

"The students have the right to know what is going on around them. We are at war, if you choose to believe it or not."

"There is no war," Fudge said, outraged. "Where do you go off saying such rubbish?"

"Fudge, you are a fool. Open your eyes. Wizards, witches and Muggles are being killed every day, and you are flat out ignoring it."

"I am still the Minister of Magic, and I will not allow you to talk to me like that. You would be better, _sir_, if you would do as I say, or else you will get yourself fired," and he turned to leave. "You'd better watch yourself from now on."

---------

When Harry awoke for the second time, it was already sunrise. He put on his glasses, and set up in bed. His head ached.

He sat there for a while, unable to form one straight thought; all blurry images and half thoughts spun around in his head. He was shaken out of his reverie by the small sound of the infirmary door being opened, and soft footsteps on the stone floor. The person to interfere his quiet stopped right in front of his bed, and then opened the curtain that was drawn around it.

To Harry's surprise it was non other than Draco Malfoy. Harry just stared at him in confusion.

"Potter, you're awake," Malfoy stated plainly.

"Malfoy, what, for Merlin's sake are you doing _here_ of all places, this early in the morning?" Harry asked, dumbfounded.

Malfoy scanned Harry with his eyes, for a moment, and then said in a flat voice, "You have seen what Lord Voldemort can do to his enemies. But you don't have the slightest idea of how he rewards his allays. Power beyond your wildest dreams," at this point, his voice had an edge of dreaminess to it. "You have a rare second chance, to choose your side. Lord Voldemort knows your strength, and he offers you to join him. You don't want to end up on the losing side, do you Potter?"

Sometime during his monolog, Malfoy stretched his hand out for Harry to shake. Harry just stared, from Malfoy's hand, to his face, and back to the stretched hand. Then he averted his gaze completely away.

His face had darkened on the first sentence. This was so absurd!

"You have got to be kidding me," he murmured. "Does the crabby ol' bastard really think that I'll join him, just like that? Forgive and forget? The git is the one solely reason for ruining my life!" Harry was outraged.

Malfoy's hand was still stretched out. "You're making a mistake, Potter," he said. "And this one is going to cost you your life."

"Malfoy, get out of here this instance!" Harry was very angry now.

"You could be a grate wizard," Malfoy drawled. "Consider the offer, for it won't come again. You are worth more to the Dark Lord alive, but this doesn't mean he will restrain from killing your sorry arse. You could rule the world, you know that? You could be great." And with this he stalked off slowly, mingling with the shadows, as if he was one of them, and leaving Harry very frustrated.

"I will never join Voldemort," he whispered to no one. "I would rather die."

But someone heard him. For the air has eyes and the walls have ears.

"And you will die, Potter, I'll make sure of it," a voice whispered, in a dark room; far away from where Harry Potter was lying in a bed in the Hogwarts Infirmary, his glasses off, and staring at absolutely nothing.


	3. Pain And Mortality

**Title**: Nox  
**Author**: Universal Blue  
**Disclaimers**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Summary**: A fifth year AU. Harry has to deal with a new year at Hogwarts, Voldemort coming back, and Draco Malfoy. (future HP/DM)

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**Chapter 2 – _Pain and Mortality_**

It was two weeks before the school year started. Harry Potter was doing some gardening at Number Four, Privet Drive. At the moment he was fussing over a big bush in the middle of the lawn. Then he put down the pruning shears, and wiped sweat off his face with his hand full of cuts, for the Dursleys never bothered to give him working gloves. He took off his glasses and cleaned them with his dirty, over-sized shirt, which used to belong to his overly large cousin, Dudley.

Harry looked at the watch on his wrist, which he had gotten for his fifteenth birthday from Hermione. 12 o'clock; it was already noon. He wondered if the Dursleys would let him in for lunch, his stomach was starting to make growling noises. Then he decided, beside himself, to do the finishing on this last bush and after that he would go back into the house.

When he finished his work, his stomach gave a loud grumble. "Shut up!" he told it, and started to make his way back into the house. As he was retreating to the cool house, he heard some noises from a back alley. At first he had mistaken them as some neighborhood children playing around, but then he heard distinct men voices. Then he stopped dead in his trucks. He could have sworn he heard the word _Muggle_.

Could it be? Did Dumbledore send people to take him to Diagon Alley? But then, why didn't anyone tell him? Or could they be... _other people_?

---------

The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade was having a quiet evening. The Inn was full of witches and wizards, all talking cheerfully over their drinks and enjoying the warmth of the fire. At one of the tables sat Olivia and Jacob Heartway with their friends, Josephine Sinn and Leon Libellus, all out to celebrate Mrs. Heartway's birthday.

Mrs. Heartway was happily drinking her Firewhisky, which was enchanted to shoot sparkles every now and then, and listening to the conversation her husband and Josephine Sinn were having animatedly about Quidditch; while Leon Libellus was engaged in reading a little book titled _Pegasus on the Run_.

All of a sudden, he appeared, right on their table, knocking down a glass of Martini. The glass fell down to the floor and broke into pieces with a loud shattering noise. That and the ladies' screams of fright drew the attention of all the Inn's residents, who all fell quiet and were looking at the table, to see what happened.

His body was limp, skinny and pale, full of scratches and bruises. His clothes, Muggle ones, were torn, and he looked deadly ill. His glasses were broken, and crooked on his nose, and his arm looked broken too – twisted in a funny angle. Nonetheless he was breathing.

"_Merlin_!" said Mr. Heartway, who recovered first. His eyes traveled through the boy's injured body and stopped on the scar very audible on his forehead. He looked at his wife and friends, trying to figure out what to do. "Boy!" he said, shaking his shoulder gently, for fear of hurting him more.

Madam Rosmerta came hurrying towards them. "Oh my!" she said. In the meanwhile Mr. Heartway was still shaking the boy gently and calling for him, with the help of Leon and Josephine.

Josephine put her hand on his forehead to see if he had a fever. "He is burning!" she said, and Leon poured some cold water on him with his wand. Rosmerta pitched in a wet towel to put on his forehead. After a few more minuets the boy finally awoke, and immediately tried to get up, but Leon held him back.

"Calm down," he said, somewhat kindly, "It's all right." And then he fixed his glasses with a Reparo charm.

"WhereamI?" asked the boy hurriedly, his eyes traveling on all of them.

"You're in The Three Broomsticks, dear," said Madam Rosmerta, and his eyes stayed on her, maybe registering that she was telling the truth.

"What am I doing here? How did I get here?"

There was silence. "Um... we aren't sure," said Leon Libellus, "You just appeared."

"Out of thin air," helped Mr Heartway.

"You couldn't possibly have Apparated, you were not in shape to do so."

Harry tried to recall the last thing he had done, which gave him a headache. Images and memories appeared in front of his eyes, and he gave a shudder. _"Now run off to your dear Dumbledore and give him my message,"_ a cruel, cold voice, screeching at the back of his mind. "I have to go!" he said frantically, and set up at once. Pain suddenly attacked him from all parts of his body.

"No, wait!" said Josephine Sinn. "At least let me take care of your arm," she continued.

Harry looked at his right arm; it was definitly broken, sticking out in a funny angle. He tried moving it, but the bottom part didn't cooperate. He stifled a cry.

"I'm a trained Healer," said Josephine taking her wand out, "I can easily fix that for you." Harry nodded his head, and then she tapped her wand twice on his arm and said an incantation, and Harry felt a warm wave rush through his arm as the bones reattached themselves. A second later his arm was healed.

"Thank you," he murmured, and without another glance sprinted out of the Inn.

The room, which was silent throughout the conversation, was left with that still silence.

---------

Harry automatically reached for his wand, but of course he didn't have it with him. Before he could decide what to do, the men showed up, four of them, all wearing dark robes and masks. They were coming from the alley, down the street. Harry wanted to run to the house and hide in there, or at least get his wand, but as he started running, one of them spotted him.

"There he is!" the Death Eater pointed Harry to the others. Another Death Eater took his wand out and aimed at Harry.

"_Stupefy!_" he said, and the boy on the run froze, unable to move. The four Death Eaters laughed. The tallest of them Summoned Harry to them, and another one took out a large bottle. "How much time?" he asked the Death Eater that Stunned Potter, who looked at his wristwatch and answered, "Twenty minuets. We didn't think it would be that easy."

And so they waited twenty minuets; two of them walked around the street bewitching random objects to bite Muggles, while one guarded the Potter boy, and the last one paced on the Dursleys' lawn in wait.

"I wish the Lord would let us kill and torture all those Muggles living here. I can't stand being here. I can feel their filthy presence all around me," said the latest.

"I know," agreed the one guarding Harry, silkily. "I too wouldn't mind tormenting those stupid, unworthy Muggles; but the Lord said we are not to draw attention. We don't want them to find out we've got Potter too soon."

"Yes, yes. Bloody Harry Potter. I can't see what can be so threatening about this stupid boy," he threw the unconscious Harry a dirty look.

When it was time, they all put their hands on the bottle (including Harry's), and in a few seconds' time they disappeared from Privet Drive.

---------

When Harry came back to consciousness, his first instinct was to run; so he tried running, in every direction. Unfortunately this was impossible for a few reasons: 1) No one can move in every direction at once. 2) He was sitting down, which made it more difficult to run. 3) He was tied up, and could barely move at all. The resolute of all of these combined was very painful to Harry. As if that wasn't enough, he suddenly felt a sharp pain in the ribs. He gave a moan of agony.

He looked around, trying to gather his surroundings. He was not in Privet Drive anymore, rather in a cold room, probably a dungeon, for it had no windows. The Death Eaters must have gotten to him and took him there, he thought. Actually, one of them was standing right in front of him, and it was reasonable to think that he was the cause of Harry's pain in the ribs, for he once again kicked Harry in the ribs and it had the same affect. Harry moaned in pain again.

"Potter," said a voice coming from behind the white mask. Harry looked at him from behind crooked glasses. "Don't dare to move a single inch, or I'll break your face. Don't talk, don't make a sound at all, and don't you dare defy me, unless you want to experience the worst pain in your life." And to show he wasn't kidding, he kicked Harry hard in the stomach. Harry cringed, but otherwise stayed quiet.

His scar hurt. Harry watched as the masked man sat himself on a chair, at the far end of the room, and opened the_ Daily Prophet_. The room was square and small, it had stone walls, a floor, and it was cold, given it was summer. His arms were tied at his back by magical ropes, that would get tighter when he tried moving. His legs were also tied up, but he couldn't move them at all, they were as heavy as lead.

'I wish I had my wand with me,' Harry thought desperately. He didn't know how long they sat there, but it seemed long enough. He tried thinking of a way to get himself out of there, but he could do next to nothing in that situation, and he desperately needed his wand. His best idea yet was to stay quiet until something happened.

After a short amount of time, the Death Eater seemed to have gotten bored with the_ Daily Prophet_, and he moved on to a more interesting activity, like torturing Harry.

"Tell me, Potter," he said, coming to stand above Harry. "How does it feel to know that all you Mudbloods are soon about to die?" Harry tried squirming and kicking him, but all it resolved in doing was tightening the ropes around his arms, to the Death Eater's amusement. "Not you, though," he added as an afterthought. "You are probably going to die today, and won't be able to see all your little Mudblood and Muggle-loving friends go. You know I had the pleasure of meeting your Mudblood mother?" his eyes lit with an evil spark.

"DON'T YOU DARE TALK ABOUT MY MOTHER, you filthy bastard son of—"

"_Silencio!_" said the Death Eater coldly. "Don't think for a second that I am interested in anything you have to say, stupid kid. _Crucio!_"

Sheer pain; pain beyond imagination attacked Harry. Every bone, muscle and fiber of his body hurt. His eyes were rolling in their sockets, he writhed on the floor and screamed in pain, but no sound came out. The room was filled with the laughter of the Death Eater, who found it highly amusing. After what seemed like forever, he lifted the curse off him, and Harry fell face down, to the stone floor. His nose gave a funny crack when it hit the floor and blood drooled out of it. But it was the least of his worries, because his entire body was hurting, especially his scar. He was shivering with pain. He felt as if a truck ran over him, over and over again. He had barely managed to move his head aside before he went sick. Blood came out as well.

"Nasty, isn't it?" said the Death Eater from somewhere above Harry. "And I can do much worse..." he left it hanging in the air. Harry didn't care _what_ he could do. Right now he wanted to die, to end it all. He closed his eyes; they were so heavy. His ears were pounding and he was breathing heavily, though it could not be heard.

---------

Harry woke up abruptly. He didn't realize that he fell asleep. He was sitting up against a stone wall, and looking around, he acknowledged that there were now three Death Eaters in the room with him. His body still hurt.

"Uge!" he said, and looked stroked at the realization that he could talk again. All three Death Eaters turned around to look at him.

"So nice to see you're awake," said Wormtail's fake kind voice from behind his mask, as he approached Harry.

"Wormtail," Harry groaned, focusing his eyes on the wizard in front of him. "What do you want from me?"

Wormtail laughed. "It's not what I want, Potter, rather what _he_ wants." He walked away and out of the room. Harry bit his lip harshly. It was pretty much the only thing he was capable of doing. A few more minutes of quiet, when the Death Eaters were talking amongst themselves in the corner of the room, and then Wormtail returned, walking behind his master. Both wizards were followed by Voldemort's gigantic snake – Nagini.

The second Voldemort had entered the room, Harry's scar started burning as if it was on fire. It was the worst Harry had ever felt it. He tensed up and glared at the wizard in front of him.

"Harry," said Voldemort in a hiss, sounding amused. "How are you feeling, boy? Enjoying my hospitality?" Harry just kept glaring fiercely at him. He could feel his blood boiling in his veins, pure hatred running in them. "It is not polite, Harry," Voldemort said calmly. "Not to answer people when they ask you something."

"But I don't see any people in here," said Harry quietly, but looking Voldemort square in the eye, and sounding much braver then he felt inside. In fact, his insides were bobbling with a toxic combination of fear, terror, rage, and something much stronger that maneuvered him; it was like confidence, but not quite the same. It was, Harry realized with quite a shock, desperation and somewhat acceptance. If he was going to die, and he was, probably soon enough, then what did it really matter? If he wasn't going to stick around, then why not at least enjoy his last minutes?

Voldemort drew out his wand slowly. "Don't test my patience, boy," he said, his red eyes flaring. "I have none." And very softly he added, "_Crucio!_"

Every bone in Harry's body was burning with pain, his head was surly about to split in half. He was screaming his lungs out, and this time it was loud and clear, full of agony and sheer pain. His screams were bouncing off of the walls, echoing in the small room, and overcoming the sound of the Death Eaters' and Voldemort's harsh laughter. He fell to the floor, once again writhing with pain, scratching his body on the hard stone. How much longer will he have to take this before he will be allowed to finally rest in peace?

A few more painful minutes and the curse was off of Harry. He let out a sigh of relief, which sounded more like a whimper. He was quivering on the floor, at Voldemort's feet. Nagini slithered closer to him and sniffed him with her tongue. "Not now, my dear," Voldemort said, and Harry knew that he was talking in Parseltongue. "But soon enough."

"Why-" Harry choked out. "Why am I here?" And he spit blood on the floor.

"Because," said Voldemort simply. "I wanted you here."

Harry looked up from the floor at Voldemort. Everything was spinning around him, he opened his mouth to say something but then suddenly everything became black, and he became re-acquainted with the floor.

---------

When Harry woke up the next time, he was no longer in the small room; he was now in a rather large room, with a few small barred windows, close to the ceiling. Harry was inside a cage, placed in the middle of the room. Instead of solid walls, the cage was bound by what looked like magical force fields. They were four force fields, all reaching the ceiling, and they were lavender-coloured. So thin that Harry had to squint hard just to make them out, unfortunately, giving him a headache.

Harry was lying on the floor when he woke up. He wanted to stretch out his arms, but realized that they were still tied. He gave a loud groan of annoyance, and shut his eyes tightly. He was weak and in pain, and his damn scar was hurting. He didn't know what time it was, or what day, or even how long he'd been there, but worst of all was that he didn't know _why_ he was there. He thought that Voldemort probably wanted to kill him, but then, shouldn't he be dead by now?

He lay there, waiting for something to happen, preferably he would spontaneously combust and all misery will come to an end. It was very quiet. There was absolutely no sound from the outside, and no sound inside as well. In the complete silence Harry could make out the ticking sound of his wristwatch. _Tick toc, tick toc, tick toc_. It was driving him insane.

Time passed by, Harry didn't know, nor care, how much. Soft footsteps were heard making their way towards the room. Harry didn't bother opening his eyes. The door to the room opened with a crack, and in walked three or four people, by the sound of it. Harry's scar hurt him once more, and he took slow and steady breaths, to ease the pain.

"Get up," said a cold voice Harry recognized as Lucius Malfoy's. He opened his eyes automatically. "Get up," the voice repeated.

Harry was staring straight ahead at the ceiling. "Oh, you see," he said in a soft voice. "I can't. My arms and legs are tied up."

Voldemort waved his wand, Harry could sense him moving, and suddenly he could feel something creeping on his legs. He looked up and saw a black snake making it's way up his body, and there was probably another on his back.

"No," he whispered to them, "Move away. Get off me!" he said, irritated. And the snakes obeyed him; they slid off him and laid on the floor, waiting for his commend. "Bite him," Harry said, smirking, and jerking his head in the direction of Lucius Malfoy. The snakes crawled toward the masked man and one of them jumped straight at his foot, opening its jaws wide, ready to bite. But right before it could close it's fangs on the flash, Voldemort said _"Finite!"_ in a bored tone, and both snakes turned into a puff of blackish smoke.

"Get up," said Lucius Malfoy, for the third time waving his wand, and Harry felt himself stand up against his will. Voldemort stood in front of his cage, and on either side of him was a Death Eater.

"You know, Potter," he said in a soft voice, cutting like a knife in Harry's ears. "We visited your school today. Your little Mudblood friend says hello."

"No..." Harry whispered, his eyes growing huge with terror. Visions of all his friends at Hogwarts being murdered, crying out for help, dead bodies, lots of blood, were all passing in front of his eyes. "No," his lips uttered, but no sound came out.

"Yes," Voldemort said slowly, and smiled, very devilishly. "She was screaming your name on her last moments, it was awfully romantic. 'Harry, oh Harry, save me!'" he mimicked a girlish voice.

_"No!"_ Harry's face was full of rage. "No, you're lying! Hogwarts has protections, you couldn't have gotten there!" But his face was bone-pale. He was shaking with rage and fear. He reached his hand and straightened his glasses up the bridge of his nose, for they almost fell down.

Voldemort continued speaking as though Harry had never interrupted him. "The Weasley girl was also calling your name," he said. "Jugson here, says the Weasley boy was also crying your name right before he died. Quite popular, aren't you, Harry?"

"Shut _up!_" Harry shouted. "You're lying! It's not true!" but his voice was cracking, "you're lying...." And he advanced towards the cage wall, and kicked at it as hard as he could. Harry bounced off the force field, and crashed at the floor. He felt like a rush of cold electricity ran through him, and he was shaking again. He heard laughs, coming from the general location of Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and he barely registered that the cage walls all changed their colour to electrical blue. He heard a soft _"Crucio!"_ and that was the last thing he remembered before regaining consciousness.

---------

From then on it became a routine; Harry would wake up to the pain of the Cruciatus Curse, and after what seemed like eternity, he would pass out on the floor, until he woke up again. Sometimes he would wake up to find a bowl of water and some bread on the floor, and that he didn't understand; why would they want to keep him alive?

He tried throwing the bowl on the wall, but it only bounced back unharmed. He tried kicking the wall again, and this time he felt as if his veins were on fire. The walls' colour turned vivid red.

He didn't have the strength anymore, so he gave up. Let them do whatever they want with him. He thought about what Voldemort said to him a lot, but it couldn't possibly be true. He couldn't have killed them all, Harry would have known if he did. Somehow he would have. No, they couldn't all be... _dead_. But tiny bits of doubt had managed to penetrate through his certainty, and they were biting and chewing through it like mice on cheese. "They're not dead!" he told himself harshly.

One time Harry woke up, but it wasn't a Death Eater torturing him, it was the Dark Lord himself.

"Enjoying yourself?" Voldemort asked, after putting out the curse, and with a flourish of his wand, the walls of Harry's cage disappeared.

"You," Harry coughed from the floor. "You... have no..." he coughed again. "Idea."

"Stand up, idiot boy," said Voldemort, his red eyes narrowing with loathing.

Harry scrambled to his feet gracelessly. He was by far shorter than the wizard in front of him. Harry's glasses, slipping down his nose, were broken, there was a trickle of blood running down from his nose, his face was full of cuts and scratches, and he was shaking.

_"Foromentis!"_ Voldemort whispered.

Harry's body all of a sudden felt numb, as if he wasn't quite in it anymore. He was sure his legs would have given up on standing, if his entire body wasn't as stiff as a rock. His eyes filled with green mist, they were like a cat's - only colour, and no pupil. His mind felt as if someone was attacking it with a sharp knife, over and over. But Harry was only vaguely aware of all this.

After a while, Voldemort said the counter spell, and Harry felt everything regaining it's usual composure. He was now very much aware of the pain in his bones, the stinging of his scar, and the feeling that his mind had been steped on by a giant. He wasn't even sure how a mind could hurt, but just thinking about it gave him a headache. He could no longer stand up, and he fell forward; as he crashed to the floor, all his weight toppled his arm, which gave a loud crack, and Harry was sure that it was broken. He gave a moan of pain.

"Very well," Voldemort said. He waved his wand, and Harry rolled over, so he was lynig on his back, his eyes staring fixedly at the red ones above him. "Harry," his voice was menacing, and his grin evil. "You shall be my Herald Angel, announcing my return to the world. I want you to go to your friend Dumbledore and give him my message: _knight to c6_," he emphasized the last four words. "I shall see you again, for the last time. Now run off to your dear Dumbledore and give him my message," he uttered a spell under his breath and Harry disappeared from the room.


	4. The Morning After

**Title**: Nox  
**Author**: Universal Blue  
**Disclaimers**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Summary**: A fifth year AU. Harry has to deal with a new year at Hogwarts, Voldemort coming back, and Draco Malfoy. (future HP/DM)

* * *

**Chapter 3 – _The Morning After_**

About half an hour after Harry Potter had been kidnapped from the Dursleys' home, Vernon Dursley was getting ready for his midday nap. He vaguely wondered where Harry was, and what kind of trouble was he up to. A satisfied smile appeared on his face as he thought of suitable punishments.

A knocking sound was heard from the front door. "Who could it possibly be, in this time of the day?" he thought aloud in resentment. He looked at his wife, who was lying on the bad, reading a magazine, mumbling an agreement. The knocking was heard again, and with a sigh, Mr. Dursley got out of bed and went to see who it was, maybe yell at them too.

Dudley was lying on the sofa, watching the telly, and not making any move to stop the door-knocking, which was heard once again. "Gruff," snorted Mr. Dursley in irritation, and opened the door. At the doorway stood three men. One with light brown hair, very shabby, and about his forties. Another one had flaming red hair in a pony-tail, young and tall, and had a hideous earring. The third one was a shady-looking man, with graying black hair, and shifty little eyes. The men were escorted by a huge black dog, looking ready to attack.

"What do you want?!" barked at them Mr. Dursley.

"Where is Harry Potter?" asked the brown-haired man, not unkindly.

"What is it to you?" said Mr. Dursley suspiciously. "...You're _them_ aren't you?" he said with loathing, giving them all a dirty look. There was a moment of silence, and then the red-headed man spoke.

"Where is Harry Potter?" he repeated the other one's words.

"I don't know where the bloody boy is!" said Vernon indignantly. "Hopefully he got ran over by a truck, or something," he added.

Immediately the black dog started barking at Mr. Dursley, and made to jump on him. The brown-haired guy got hold of him before he could. "Padfoot!" he cried out, "stop that, now is not the time!" The dog stopped barking and stood still, but he was flashing his fangs out at Mr. Dursley.

Now the three wizards took out their wands subtly, and pointed them at Mr. Dursley. At this point Dudley, who was watching the event, had the irresistible urge for a soda, and took a run-off to the kitchen. Mr. Dursley shifted uncomfortably.

"He bloody should be in the garden, working!" he said.

The three men and the dog all looked back at the lawns. Mr. Dursley also peered out, but there was no one there, except for old Mrs. Figg from down the street, who was strolling on the road.

"If he's not there then I don't know where he might be," hurried Mr. Dursley to say.

The brown-haired man brushed past him, the dog hurrying behind him. "Where is he living?" he asked, and Vernon pointed at the steps. The dog already started sniffing around and was running towards Harry's room. The two other men stepped outside, and were looking for the boy. One of them was talking to Mrs. Figg. Vernon shut the door quickly, but she already got a glimpse of him.

In the meanwhile; the dog opened the door using his paw, and jumped inside, sniffing some more. He gave a little whimper as he didn't find what he was looking for.

"Don't worry, Padfoot," said the brown-haired wizard, petting the dog's head. "We will find him." The dog started sniffing around the room, as the man looked through the closet. He took out Harry's trunk, and went through it. "We better take this somewhere safe," he said to the dog. "They might come back for his wand."

They rummaged through the room, leaving it a total mess, and taking everything that looked worth saving.

Remus thought they covered the entire room when Sirius smelt something on the floor and started barking and scratching the floor.

"All right, what is the matter?" Remus asked him, and the dog pointed at a floorboard under Harry's bed, and moved aside to give his friend space. The Werewolf kneeled to check the floorboard: it was loose. He took it off and found a stash hidden beneath it. Sirius barked. Hidden were a couple of Chocolate Frogs, a photo album containing photos of Lily and James in the good days, Sirius' "wanted" ad (which Remus gave a sad smile to), a quill, an ink bottle and Harry's Potions homework for the Holidays.

---------

_Pain; a lot of pain. Blood, screams, cruel laughter. Coldness. People, two of them; dying. Green light. More and more pain. All spinning, blurry rush. The Dark Mark. A lot of screams. Death. Cold laughter. Everything melting into blackness. A soft whisper – "Avada Kedavra". A cold voice speaking. "Knight to c6" echoing. Blood and screams. Unbelievable pain.___

Harry woke up screaming, covered in cold sweat, and panting loudly. It was already morning, and he couldn't remember falling asleep.

---------

On Dumbledore's desk stood a bunch of selected puffing, smoking, buzzing and shaking instruments. One of these instruments was what looked like a small silver, twirly vase. The vase had words in French engraved on it. They said; _Je pense que ce vin déjà a etait bu._, meaning "I think this wine has been drunk before." – The silver vase, which was quiet until then, gave a choked cough, and stated puffing purple smoke. This gesture probably would have gone unnoticed by any other person, but Dumbledore was well aware of it, and it worried him greatly.

He gave the vase a sad look, then touched it with his wrinkled ancient hand, and it went dead. He reached for a leather bag standing on a shelf, and took a pinch of floo powder. After throwing the powder into the fireplace he said loudly and clearly, "The Flow's Home." The green flames roured, and then calmed down.

"Remus?" Dumbledore said, "Sirius? Come here quick!"

Not a minute had passed and Remus Lupin's head popped into the fire. "Professor Dumbledore," he said hurriedly. "Is everything all right? What is the matter?"

"Is it Harry?" asked Sirius' voice, out of breath and urgent. "Is something wrong with Harry?"

"Sirius, calm down," Dumbledore sighed. "I'm afraid Mr. Potter is no longer in the Dursleys resident, and for now I do not know where he is." Remus' face paled a little, as far as he could tell with all the fire. "I need you both to gather up everyone you can and go to Number four, Privet Drive, as soon as you can. See if you can find him, or any evidence of his current whereabouts. I myself shall contact Arabella Figg and alert her. Now hurry up."

"A-all right, sir. We will do as best as we can," said Remus and disappeared from the grate. The flames returned to normal. Dumbledore was already scribbling a letter on a piece of parchment.

---------

Half an hour later found Remus, Bill Weasley, Mundungus Flatcher and Sirius in his dog form (for it was still dangerous for him to be out in the open.) at the front door of Number four, Privet Drive, in Little Whinging.

Remus knocked on the door once, twice, three times before anyone had bothered to open it. At the doorway stood a very grumpy man, with very little neck and a thick moustache. He glared at them one at a time.

"What do you want?!" barked at them Mr. Dursley.

---------

"I want to see Professor Dumbledore."

"No."

"I _demand_ to see Professor Dumbledore!"

"No, Potter."

"But—"

"Professor Dumbledore is a very busy person, Potter. He doesn't have time to meet any random student for a cup of tea. You of all people should know what he has to deal with right now."

"But that's why I wanted to see him! You don't understand, Professor, I have something important to tell him," said Harry desperately.

"You can tell it to me, and I promise I will deliver the message to the Headmaster."

"No, I have to tell him it personally," Harry insisted.

"Very well, then you'll wait until the Headmaster will have time to see you," she said. "Right now it looks like you have visitors." Harry looked around, and saw Ron and Hermione, followed by Ginny, entering the Infirmary, smiles breaking on their faces as they saw that Harry was up and about.

"Have a good day, Potter," Professor McGonagall said, and left the Infirmary. Harry let his head fall down in frustration.

"Harry!" said Hermione, hugging him tightly. "I'm so glad you're ok!"

"Yeah, mate," said Ron, appearing on the other side of Harry's bed. "You had us really worried!"

"How long was I out?" Harry asked, remembering that he hadn't asked this before. He had other things on his mind.

"You missed the first day of school," Hermione said regretfully. "I've brought you all of the homework, and my notes so you can copy them." She pulled a large pile of parchment out of her bag, and dumped it in Harry's hands. Harry put them aside and decided to look at them much, much later.

There was an awkward silence for a moment, but it was broken by Hermione sighing. She examined Harry carefully with her gaze, and said seriously, "So how are you?"

"Fine, I guess," he answered, running a hand through his messy hair.

"You look awful," Ron chipped in.

"Why, thank you, Ron. You always know how to pet the old ego." Harry half smiled.

"Well you do," Ron insisted.

Ginny didn't participate in the conversation. She stood a safe way away from the trio, and was practicing not making any sound at all. She was very much succeeding.

"Ginny!" she whimpered as Harry called her. "Why don't you come closer?" She did, but still hadn't said a word.

They talked for about an hour. About the first day of school, and last night, and apparently Hermione was a Prefect. Harry congratulated her when he noticed the shiny badge on her chest. The other Gryffindor Prefect was Dean Thomas.

"You know," Ron was saying, nipping on a Chocolate Frog (When Harry woke up the final time there were four big boxes of sweets from Honeydukes lying next to his bed.). "Dumbledore really kept your disappearance hushed, I don't really know why," he added thoughtfully.

"Oh, don't be a moron, Ron," Hermione interfered, before Ron got a chance to continue. "The Ministry is working very hard in denying You-Know-Who's return, they'd love to have the only proof of it dead."

"But that's ridiculous!" Harry said, "There are lots of new evidence of his return! What about those three Muggles found dead, no apparent reason why – that's Avada Kedavra! And the Dark Mark appearing on the sky at July, and—"

"Harry, calm down!" Hermione said softly. "We know about all that, but the Ministry still insists on denying the obvious truth."

"_Anyway_, as I was saying before being so rudely interrupted," Ron said, glaring at Hermione, and focusing back on Harry. "There was nothing about the kidnap at any of the Newsletters, and it's _you_, right? Dad was helping Dumbledore, and he said that no one at the Ministry knew. Except for Our Guy, of course," he added with a conspirative smile.

"Er, 'Our Guy'?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"There's a stupid rumor," Hermione explained, rolling her eyes. "That we have one ally at the Ministry. A wizard from the inside, working for Dumbledore."

"He's sorta like a spy," added Ron, "no one knows who he is. He's supposed to be in a very high place," he raised his eyebrows conspiratorially.

"Yes, he is probably working in their Owlery," Hermione said sarcastically.

"Oh, be quiet, you!" answered Ron, angrily.

Before they could start a fight Harry spoke. "You really think," he said slowly, "that there is only _one_ person on our side, in the whole Ministry of Magic?"

"Well, aside from Dad—"

"And Percy."

"Not really," said Ginny in a small voice. They all looked at her, surprised. She looked at the floor, sadly.

"All of the Ministry workers are Fudge's puppies, they'll believe whatever he says."

"That's not true!" said Ron indignantly. "Some of them believe Dumbledore. They're just afraid of Fudge."

"Ha!" Hermione said.

"Well, it's not like they really can stand up to him. He is the Minister of Magic."

"But they can—"

And they went on and on, until the conversation died.

---------

Bill and Mundungus were looking for Harry, or at least a clue as to Harry's whereabouts, outside. Mundungus was asking Arabella Figg if she saw anything that could help them while Bill was having a look around.

"It's useless," he told Mr. Fletcher, as he joined him in a walk around the street, asking random Muggles whether they noticed anything. "They're long gone. We won't find Harry around here."

"Well, son, there isn't much we can do. Just hope that everything will work out in the end."

'Hope won't help us at all,' Bill thought angrily. 'Oh, Mum is going to be so upset.'

Suddenly they both turned around as they heard a scream. They hurried toward the source of the noise – a terrified Muggle. His hand was stuck in a letter box, and Bill helped him free it.

"I don't know what happened," he explained, a bit confused and hysterical. "I slipped my hand in to get the Mail and the lid suddenly fell on it and got stuck, and I couldn't take my hand out." He looked painfully at his sore, red hand. "It's really weird, I tell—"

That moment an obliviation spell sent by Mundungus hit him. "We don't have time for this," he told Bill, walking away.

"You do know what this means," Bill said. "There were wizards here. They must have been Death Eaters."

---------

After a few minutes where no one seemed to find something to say, the silence was broken:

"Harry," Ron bit his lip. He finally decided to ask what he really wanted since he first walked in there. "What really happened?" His voice quivered, but his eyes shone with curiosity.

Harry frowned. He looked at Hermione and Ginny, they too looked curios. He sighed.

"About two weeks ago I was working in the garden..."

And half an hour later he finished telling them everything that happened until last night. Almost everything, he left out the parts where the Cruciatus Curse was used at him. He simply didn't want them to give him _that look_. A mixture of pity, sorrow, anxiety, awe, horror and fear; all directed at him.

"What I don't get," he mused. "Is what is the meaning of 'knight to c6'?"

Hermione jumped up, she already figured it all out. "It's in—"

"Chess," Ron cut her out. "It's a classic opening."

"Yes," Hermione glared at him. "Chess is used a lot as a metaphor for war."

"So he's basically saying that he's made the first move at the war?" Harry said slowly. "But what does he mean, the kills?"

"No," Hermione thought about it for a moment. "It has to be something big. You said he did a spell on you - he penetrated your mind. He probably found something in there that he can use against us. But what?"

Harry was horrified. His blood froze in his veins, he felt cold in the pit of his stomach and his body was stiff and numb.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, "I didn't mean... It's probably some other thing...."

"You know what's interesting?" said Ron very tactfully. "That You-Know-Who said 'knight to c6'; that's on the _white_ side of the board. He chose to play white rather than black."

"Em... yeah," Hermione said. "That's weird. I wonder why he did it."

---------

On the walls of Dumbledore's office were portraits of old Headmasters and Headmistresses, they were all sleeping, some even snoring loudly. Harry tried to imagine that one day there would be a portrait of Dumbledore right there. He shuddered at the thought. Instead, Harry averted his eyes to look at Fawkes, Dumbledore's Phoenix. Fawkes had beautiful crimson and golden feathers, shining brightly in the beam of light coming from the window. He was sleeping peacefully on his perch, his head bent down. He turned to look at the shelves on the walls. On one of them stood what looked like a round stone clock – it had four hands, and instead of numbers there were signs. On another were the old Sorting Hat and the sword of Godric Gryffindor. He looked at the weird silver puffing and smoking instruments. And finally, when there was nothing more to look at, he looked at Dumbledore. His light blue eyes staring fixedly back.

Harry had just finished telling him the full and uncensored version of the story, and was waiting for Dumbledore's response, which never came. Dumbledore just nodded after Harry stopped talking and said nothing. The thick silence went on for ages in Harry's mind, though it was really less than a minute.

"Sir, can I ask you a question?" Harry asked finally.

"Certainly, Harry," Dumbledore replied kindly.

"Why-" Harry's throat was dry,"why did Voldemort let me go? Why didn't he kill me?"

Dumbledore sighed. "That's a good question, Harry," he said. But he never continued because at that moment the door to the office opened and in came a wrinkled old lady that reminded Harry old Mrs. Figg. But it couldn't be Mrs. Figg, she was a Muggle.

"Hello, Dumbledore," she said, and looked at Harry.

"Harry Potter, Arabella Figg," Dumbledore said, his eyes shining. "I believe you two have met."

"Yes, yes," said Mrs. Figg dismissively and seated herself on a chair.

"But," Harry said, staring at Mrs. Figg. "But you're not.... You're not... are you? You can't be... a...."

"A witch?" asked Mrs. Figg. "But I am, of course."


	5. Meet The New DADA Teacher

**Title**: Nox  
**Author**: Universal Blue  
**Disclaimers**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Summary**: A fifth year AU. Harry has to deal with a new year at Hogwarts, Voldemort coming back, and Draco Malfoy. (future HP/DM)

* * *

**Chapter 4 – _Meet The New DADA Teacher_**

Harry was walking around the corridors quietly. It was the third day of school, which he also missed, because Madam Pomfrey refused to let him leave the Infirmary. She gave in around dinnertime. The first thing Harry did was talking to Dumbledore. He told him the entire story, from the day he was kidnapped to the dream he had two nights ago. By now dinnertime was over, and Harry was hungry and tired, and still had a huge pile of homework to do. He couldn't believe it – it was only the third day of school, and he was _already_ behind on his work! He sighed heavily, and the sigh immediately turned into a great yawn. One thing bothered him the most, one thought that crawled back to him, even though he pushed it away – _why did Voldemort let me go? Just like that, he let me go._

"Albeo equus," he yawned as he reached the painting of the Fat Lady.

"You should get some sleep," advised the Fat Lady, moving, so that Harry could pass.

He spotted Ron and Hermione sitting at one of the tables. Ron was fuming over his Potions homework. Harry's heart pinched a little as he thought of all the homework he still had to do, but he ignored it. As he got closer to them he heard Hermione was ranting on about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. This was very unusual for Hermione; she didn't make a habit of bad-mouthing the teachers. Today was their first DADA lesson, which Harry missed; since then Hermione hadn't stopped talking about it.

"Harry, mate! What did Dumbledore say?" Ron said, as Harry reached them. His eyes, on the other hand, said, "Please help me! Get her to stop talking!"

"You know Dumbledore," Harry answered, somewhat still distracted. "He doesn't say much."

"Hello, Harry," Hermione greeted, looking over Ron's shoulders at his essay. "That's _dragon hide_, right there," she pointed out, "not dragon heart."

"Don't you have any work, 'Mione?"

"I already did mine." She threw Ron a dirty look.

"Oh, don't you have some miss-behaving first years to intimidate?" said Ron irritably.

"I do not intimidate first years!"

"You should have seen the looks on their little faces," Ron told Harry, "they were completely terrified!"

"Well, it's not _my_ fault! They were playing with Gobstones in the middle of the corridor, it's against the rules."

"You already sound like _Percy_," Ron said, as if this was the worst curse in the world. "And anyway, you didn't have to threaten to expel them! Poor first year Hufflepuffs," he sighed dramatically. "You really enjoy being a prefect, don't you?"

At this point Harry stopped listening, and instead let himself sink in his thoughts.

---------

"A witch?" asked Mrs. Figg. "But I am, of course. Expelled me off Hogwarts, they did. Broke my wand, ya know," a spark of something like an old grudge lit in her eyes, and she looked at Harry sadly.

"But... but why did you never tell me? That you were... that _I_ was...!"

"I'm afraid that's my fault, Harry," Dumbledore said from his chair. "I asked Arabella to guard you, and we couldn't let you know what you are—"

"_Why?_" Harry felt like an eight-year-old, but he couldn't help himself.

"Harry, we'll have to finish our conversation on another day," Dumbledore said, and that was it.

Harry got up, and with a last look at the old wizard and, apparently, witch, he walked out of the room. He sighed. It was only the third day of school and already he had so many questions that were bothering him.

---------

"'Ave you ered, 'arry?" Ron said, with his mouth full of cereal.

"About what?" asked Harry, moving his mashed potatoes around his plate.

"Geir 'aving—" he swallowed. "They're having Quidditch tryouts for the team! They need a new keeper."

"Oh, indeed?" Harry looked at his friend. Somehow, he forgot all about Quidditch.

"Yes, there was a note on the message board, the tryouts are on next Thursday." Harry was about to ask who was the new Captain, when Ron added quietly, "I was thinking about applying... maybe... you know."

"Oh," Harry said, "that would be great." He smiled at Ron encouragingly.

"You think? I thought it would be fun if we were together on the team, an' all."

"Yes, of course!" Harry said.

Then there was a great noise of swishing wings, and in came the Owl Post. No post came for either of them. Hermione, on the other hand, got _The Daily Prophet_. She put aside the Transfiguration book she was reading, and leafed through _The Prophet_. Harry and Ron quietly ate their breakfasts.

"Another person was found dead," she announced finally, closing the newsletter. "Another person is dead, and we can't do anything about it." She pushed her plate aside.

"We will do something," Harry said sheepishly, "we'll find a way..."

"How do you know we will?" she demanded.

"We just will."

"No, we won't," she said angrily, leaving the table.

"What—" Ron yawned, "was that about?"

"I have no idea," Harry said.

"She's afraid," said Seamus from his seat at the table, holding another copy of _The Prophet_. "This time it was a Muggle killed, there will be more. And Hermione's parents are Muggles, remember?"

"Yeah..." Dean agreed gloomily.

"Hello, Fred," Seamus greeted Fred who now came to breakfast.

"Hi, Fred," said Ron, Harry and Neville. Dean was still preoccupied.

"Hello, mates," greeted Fred, sitting in Hermione's empty seat.

Another death, Harry thought. He's been back for only four days, and by this time Voldemort had killed six people. This just keeps getting worse and worse.

---------

Harry entered the Potions dungeon, like all his classmates. It was just his luck that the first lesson he participated in, wound up to be Potions. He gave Ron another weary look as they sat down beside Hermione, who's already been there for a while. Last came in Snape, who glared at Harry menacingly.

"I'm glad," drawled Snape when the last student set down, "to see that Mr. Potter has finally decided to join our class, seeming that the school year started four days ago." A few of the Slytherins laughed, Draco Malfoy was one of them. "Potter," Snape shot, "would you like to tell me why is salamander skin so important for the Potion we're making?"

"Err...." He gave Hermione a pleading look, but there was nothing she could do, as Snape was closely watching him. "I don't know," he said quietly.

"Say it again, Potter, I didn't get that," Snape eyed him.

"I don't know," Harry gritted his teeth.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape said, satisfied. "Potter, you should make up for the lessons you miss, you have no excuse for not doing so."

"But—"

"Next time it will be a detention."

Harry was quiet for the entire lesson, and only glared at Snape.

---------

That afternoon Harry was walking around, preoccupied, on his way to Gryffindor tower. Why did Voldermort let him go? And what does Dumbledore know about it? What was the big thing that Voldemort supposedly did? And what was happening with Mrs. Figg?

He was so bothered with his thoughts that he didn't notice what he was doing and tripped over a disappearing step. He fell flat on his face, and his glasses fell off.

"Ouch!" He got to his feet, rubbing his nose. "Where are my glasses?" He tried squinting around to find them, but only succeeded in giving himself a headache. He was even ready to humiliatingly drop down on all fours, but then he heard footsteps from behind him; someone was coming.

Harry spun around quickly. He could barely make out the form of a wizard walking towards him. "Excuse me?" Harry called as the person neared him, but they didn't seem to hear him. "Excuse me?" he repeated. The person stopped lazily in front of Harry. From up close he could make out blond hair.

"Yes, Potter?" asked a cold voice.

Harry's mouth formed an O as he finally realized who was in front of him. "Never mind," he hurriedly said. He hated being so vulnerable with Malfoy around to see it.

Through his anger at himself Harry noticed something. This was so unusual that even in his current state Harry found time to ponder about it – Malfoy was alone. No Crabbe and Goyle. Harry couldn't think of a time he saw Malfoy without his "bodyguards".

"You bloody wanted something, Potter, did you not?"

"It doesn't matter," said Harry through gritted teeth.

Malfoy shrugged and kept on walking. Harry barely followed him with his eyes as he skipped over the step that tripped Harry. Then he stopped and turned around.

"Potter, be at the lake by dinner time, if you know what's good for you," he said, and as footsteps were heard coming from the other end of the hall, walked away quickly.

Harry threw him a weird look. "Excuse me?" he turned to the newcomer. "Could you help me find my glasses?"

---------

It was nearing dinnertime, and Harry wasn't sure if he should go meet Malfoy or not. Malfoy would probably try and do something to him; it wasn't very wise to go. He was reminded of that time in first year when Malfoy challenged him to a Wizard Duel and then tipped Filch about him wandering in the corridors after hours, which ultimately reminded him of Fluffy. He shuddered at that thought, and bitterly smiled to himself. How everything was so simple when he was young; there was good and there was evil, and if no one were about to do anything then he would have to do it himself. But now it was different and exhausting. There was still good and evil, but he didn't know which was which anymore, he didn't know who to trust and whom not to. Now he had no idea what was going on around him, and there was nothing he could possibly do. Sighing, he decided to meet with Malfoy and see what he wanted.

"Harry, aren't you coming to dinner?"

He averted his eyes from the fire in the fireplace and looked at Ron, blinking. "Er... I'm not so hungry," he said distractedly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Harry said, "I'll go in a bit."

"Ok." Ron looked at him weirdly. "See you mate." And he left the Common Room, which was now almost empty.

A few minutes later, Harry grabbed his warm cloak and left to the lake.

---------

Malfoy was already there when Harry got to the lake. It was blistering cold and Harry hung tightly to his cloak, but the other boy didn't seem to be affected by the coldness. He was sitting down by the end of the lake, and looked towards Harry as he came nearer.

"Don't be late," he said, standing up. "It's inappropriate."

Harry stopped a couple of feet away from him, and couldn't help but shiver in the cold wind. For the first time Harry noticed a shiny Slytherin Prefect Budge. _So Malfoy is a Prefect?_ he thought. _Well, considering the other choices..._

"Have you considered the offer?"

Harry thought a second. "What offer?"

"Power and wealth, beyond your wildest dreams."

He completely forgot about that since that night. "I already told you, Malfoy, I will never join Voldemort." He looked him hard in the eye to make sure it was clear to Malfoy.

"I always knew you were _stupid_, Potter," Malfoy spat.

"Whatever you say." Harry didn't have the strength to fight with Malfoy at that moment. He was confused, weary and tired, and nothing was fitting in place. There were so many things, all in chaos. He sat down where Malfoy was before, and looked at the dark lake, pensive.

After a few minutes Harry realized that Malfoy sat down beside him, keeping a safe distance away from him.

"Go away, would you?" he said irritably.

"You know," Malfoy said, ignoring Harry, "I would kill for an offer like that from the Dark Lord."

"I'm positive you would."

"This is not something you refuse."

"Why do you even care?" Harry snapped. "You hate me, don't you? You'd love to see him kill me, right? So why do you try so hard to convince me?!"

"I'm supposed to," came the much calmer reply.

There was a long pause. "You know, Malfoy, I don't understand," Harry mused. "Voldemort – why does he do that? What is all the killing for? What is he trying to accomplish?"

"Merlin, Potter, sometimes you're too naive for your own good," Malfoy said. "Power, Potter. He terrorizes the people to gain control over them. They _fear_ him."

"And when," Harry said slowly, "he has all the power in the world – what will he do then?"

"He will seek more power."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Harry wondered.

"As it should."

"And what about you? You are playing his game. You are his _pawn_."

The tips of Malfoy's ears reddened at this word, but he stayed calm, "I too seek power."

"Power over what? Power over whom?" Harry attacked.

"None of which you will ever be able to comprehend." He stopped and bit his lip, thinking. "Potter, in your little fantasy world everything is black and white – good and evil, right and wrong. Well, it doesn't work that way in the _real _world. There is no such thing as _evil_, no one kills people just because, there is a reason for killing someone. There always is. In the real world it's _power_ that counts. Power and money, and the use you put in it." Somehow it didn't seem to Harry that donating for charity was what Draco Malfoy would consider "putting in good use" of money.

"But what is power good for at the end of the day? Power doesn't love you," Harry said roughly, "_you_ just love power."

"I said that you wouldn't understand this," said Malfoy arrogantly. "Don't bother your delusional brain anymore. I have heard what I need to hear, and said more than enough. I shall meet you at the battlefield."

He walked away from the lake and Harry, into the castle. Harry stayed there for a while, just thinking about everything Malfoy said.

---------

When Harry got back to the castle it was very late. The walls had an eerie aura coming from them. The fire in the Common Room was slowly dying away. His head hurt, and he felt numb, maybe because he was so long out in the cold. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He slowly opened the door to the dorm, trying to make as less noise as possible. All the other boys were already in their beds, sleeping.

"Harry? Is that you?" a soft sleepy voice was heard.

"Yes, Ron," Harry answered quietly, taking off his cloths and getting into his pajamas.

"You're late."

"I know." He slipped under the covers of his bed and took off his glasses. Ron already fell back asleep, and he himself fell asleep only minutes after. His last thought was 'don't be late.'

---------

"Settle down, everyone."

It was Harry's first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, and he could finally see what Hermione was talking about. He took a seat between her and Ron and waited for the rest of the class to sit down.

"All right," said the Professor. "Can anyone tell me what a Praestigio spell is?"

Hermione's hand shot up as usual.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Excuse me, Professor Benton, but I have a question."

"Of course, Miss Granger, what is it?" He seemed keen to answer anything Hermione had to ask.

"Will you let the girls work too this time?" she asked sweetly. The class fell completely silent. Tension was in the air.

"Well... no," said Professor Benton. "You understand, Miss Granger, Defense Against the Dark Arts is more of a man's field. You girls shouldn't do the fighting, it's too dangerous for you."

Hermione's face reddened. "That is just chauvinistic!" she exclaimed.

"Well, let's go back to the subject, shall we?" he said to the entire class.

"Uge!" grunted Hermione beside him, and Harry tried to pet her shoulder in a friendly way.

"Does anyone know what a Praestigio spell is?"

Silence greeted that question. Harry could see Hermione battling with her instincts not to raise her hand.

"All right, a Praestigio spell is an illusion spell, it creates any illusion you want to make, which evidently can be very useful in battle—"

He drew out his wand and cried: "_mittere praestigium!"_

A great lion, about three feet tall, came out of his wand. It had a beautiful mane, sharp eyes that glared at them, and its tail was moving slowly and dangerously from side to side. It showed them its teeth and growled. A few of the girls screamed, and backed away. Harry's heart beat so fast that it was about to burst out of his chest. If he hadn't known better he would have thought the lion was real. It looked real, and dangerous.

The lion's eyes flashed and then it roared, and jumped right at poor Neville. Neville screamed and closed his eyes, and Harry admitted to himself that if he were at that position he wouldn't have acted much differently. The lion went right through Neville and his desk, and then returned to the front of the class. Professor Benton said _"Finite Incentatum!"_ and the lion dissolved into thin air.

The entire class, aside from Hermione, that is, burst with cheers, clapping their hands and, in Seamus and Dean's case, whistling.

When the cheers subdued Professor Benton spoke again, "It's a very hard spell to perform, you'll have to practice a lot to get better at it, and it won't be easy. As your magical ability will grow, so will your illusion. It will be easier to perform the spell, it will look more lifelike, and it will last longer. However, unless you practice its all the time you won't be able to produce more then a quill. Now," he said, pulling a long silver key out of his pocket, and placing it on the table. "Get to work, boys – the incantation is _mittere praestigium_. We will start with something small and inanimate. I want you to imitate this key. Girls – you can read about it in page 58 in your book."

"Read? I don't want to read, I want to perform the spell!" Hermione said, exasperated.

"Miss Granger, this is a very difficult spell, and I—"

"I bet I could do it better than any of the boys," Hermione cut him.

"Now, Granger, you girls shouldn't worry about these kind of things. You just read the book, all right?"

Hermione opened her book, deliberately doing so aggressively, and started reading, every once in a while glaring at the Professor.

"Now boys, do try the spell, will you?"

Harry concentrated really hard on the key. He memorized its appearance and he even knew the exact pattern of the curves. He said the incantation and on the table appeared the key, just like Benton's, though it was semi-transparent.

"Nice work, Potter," said Professor Benton, who walked past his table, "try again."

Harry looked around him to see how the others were doing –

Beside him, Ron was doing better. Unlike Harry's it was fully visible, though it had a bit of a bluish hue to it, and he couldn't seem to make it stay for long. Neville's key was also wavering on and off site. Seamus', like Harry's illusion was semi-transparent, and Dean, whom Professor Benton was complementing, seemed to be the only one that got the spell right.

Harry felt sad, looking at the girls. Lavender was glaring at all the boys. Hermione, beside him, was pretending to read, but her eyes barely even moved. He didn't understand why Professor Benton wouldn't let them do any actual work.

Sighing, he got back to the task at hand, and tried making that key again. This time it looked almost real.

---------

"You see what I was talking about?" Hermione said to Harry, on their way to dinner. "That teacher is so awful!"

"I don't see what's wrong with him," Ron said.

"Well, of course you don't, you're an imbecile," she snapped at him. "The man doesn't let any of the girls _do_ anything!"

"That's not true, he let you read," reminded Ron.

"Ugh!" She glared at him, and went back to Harry, "I don't understand why Dumbledore would hire such a horrible person."

"I don't think he had much choice in the matter," Harry got to talk for the first time in the conversation, as they sat down at the Gryffindor house table. "After the past few years, I'm starting to wonder if that position really _is_ cursed."

"Don't be ridiculous, it isn't cursed," Hermione said.

"You don't know that for sure," he raised his eyebrows.

After a while of eating, Ron was telling Fred and George about Professor Benton's lion. ("—And it looked so real, you wouldn't believe that it was just an illusion." "We studied this charm two years ago, Ron, we don't _care_—"), and Harry was once again deep in thought, until Hermione disturbed his thoughts.

"I'll do something about it," she said decisively.

"Great idea," Harry said, with no enthusiasm.


	6. Time Goes By

**Title**: Nox  
**Author**: Universal Blue  
**Disclaimers**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Summary**: A fifth year AU. Harry has to deal with a new year at Hogwarts, Voldemort coming back, and Draco Malfoy. (future HP/DM)

* * *

Chapter 5 – _Time Goes By_

A month and a half went by. Harry could have sworn it was just a couple of days. He had spent that month drowning in his schoolwork, and practicing for the upcoming Quidditch Season. As always, he was so tired at the end of the day that he didn't have time to worry about all that was bothering him. This was the perfect Harry Potter system for dealing with things.

The new captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team was George Weasley, who wasn't as irresponsible as one might think. Basically he just enjoyed abusing his teammates in various ways with his new authority. Ron went to the Quidditch tryouts that Thursday, and Harry cheered for him from the stands, but eventually he didn't make it. Instead, some third year by the name of Kevin De'luka was the new Keeper. Ron was really upset, but a week later he seemed over it, though he still wouldn't talk to his brothers. Harry really wanted Ron to be the Keeper, because it meant so much to him, but there was nothing he could do.

Hermione didn't do anything about 'the Benton Problem', as she called it, but Harry and Ron knew she was up to something, she had that determined spark in her eye that she had when organizing S.P.E.W. (Harry shuddered at the memory). She would sit and sulk in Benton's classes, but do whatever he had the girls do. Harry once tried to convince him to let the girls do some work too, but Professor Benton instead, explained to him that the men should fight the war, and protect the women, while they stayed at home with the children. _"War is a man's business,"_ he'd said. Harry still argued – _"But there are a lot of female Aurors!" _He didn't know much about Aurors, but hoped it was true, it must have been. _"Poor souls,"_ was what Professor Benton responded before urging Harry back to work.

The headlines only got worse and worse – _"A wizard, his wife and their two daughters all found dead, no traces of the weapon, spell or poison. Aurors suspect it to be the Killing Curse." "The Dark Mark appears in the sky; is it a sign of what is coming?" "Witches and wizards fear for their lives, are their fears justified?" "A shop on Diagon Alley, owned by a Muggle-born was burned to the ground."_ But the Ministry of Magic just kept on denying Voldemort's return. They repeated all the time that it was "just kids playing, and there is nothing to worry about. Of course we have our best Aurors tracing these kids, but it is definitely nothing like the nonsense rumor of He Who Must Not Be Named returning from the dead. Don't be ridiculous."

Harry wondered if Fudge really believed all this bullocks he was saying. He didn't understand how he could act so blind. It was like him, Harry, saying that Ron didn't exist, when here he was, sitting right in front of him at the Gryffindor House Table. It was like saying there was no such thing as Hogwarts. It was ridiculous. It was, in fact, like Muggles not believing in Magic when it lied right in front of their eyes. He remembered Mr. Weasley saying once about Muggles – _"They'll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if it's staring them in the face."_ Well, it's staring them right in the face.

Harry and Hermione were sitting in the Library, surrounded by books about the Werewolf Code of Conduct for History of Magic. Hermione was scribbling furiously on her parchment with her clear script, while Harry was having a hard time not falling asleep. He was in the process of writing "register", but didn't seem to get anywhere after the "reg". Taking off his glasses, he rubbed his tired eyes.

"All right," said Hermione, yawning herself. "We should go to bed. Let's finish this tomorrow."

Harry nodded in agreement, and they both gathered the books and their things, and went back to Gryffindor Tower. Ron was sitting by the fire at the Common Room speaking to Neville when they returned.

"What were you two doing in the Library for so long?" he demanded.

Harry decided it would be better for him to leave before his friends start to fight, and immediately excused himself to bed, rubbing his eyes again, and yawning all the way.

"We were _studying_, Ron," Hermione said fiercely. "That's what people do at the Library. It wouldn't hurt you to do so, either."

"Well, then," Ron defended, by attacking, "how come you only take Harry to study with you?"

"Because Harry needs to study, or he'll fail. And how dare you blame me for not taking you with us? We asked you a thousand times to come and study with us and you always said 'no', what do you expect me to do – drag you by your feet?"

"Well—no. But you didn't ask me this time!" he answered lamely. "And—and you didn't ask the time before, and the time before that—"

"I did too ask you the time before that, I remember because you were complaining about that Potions class, and I said that if you don't want Snape to fail you, you should study, and you said you didn't want to study—"

"Well, I was too upset to study that day! And if you're so smart why _do_ you have to study so much?"

"Ooch!" she shrieked. "Grow up already, Ron," with that she stormed out of the Common Room.

Halloween had finally arrived. As usual, thousands of live bats fluttered from the ceiling, and around the tables in the Great Hall. Curved pumpkins with candles in them were placed around the halls instead of the usual torches, and pupmkins as large as garden sheds were assorted in the Great Hall.

The food appeared on the golden plates, like it usually did on Halloween, and everyone began to eat. The food was positively delicious. Harry loved the Halloweens at Hogwarts. Halfway through the feast he was luaghing about something Ron said when his eyes reached the staff table, and he noticed Professor Dumbledore was absent. He eyed Hermione, who was sitting in front of him, talking to Fred, and then elbowed Ron in the ribs. They both looked at the staff table and saw what he saw.

"What do you think?" he whispered.

Ron shrugged and looked puzzled, while Hermione looked thoughtful; she was obviously running all posible reasons Dumbledore had to leave in the middle of the feast.

"Well, maybe," she said quite sheepishly, after a minute, "he had to go to lavatory?"

Ron luaghed, and Harry threw her a dirty look.

"Whatever it is, Harry, you should give it a rest. It is none of our business."

'It is too our business,' Harry thought gloomily, but he was quickly distracted by a new course's appearence.

By the end of dinner Dumbledore had yet to appear. Harry was sipping from his pumpkin juice and listening to a conversation between Seamus, Neville, Ron and Lee Jordan about poisonous toads, while they were waiting for this year's entartaintment. Suddenly, he felt tapping on his shoulder – it was Seamus, sitting beside him, he pointed behind Harry, and so he turned around and saw a severe-looking Professor McGonagall, standing with her arms crossed.

"Mr. Potter," she said quietly. "A word with you?"

Harry got up quickly and followed her out of the Great Hall.

"Potter, Professor Dumbledore would like to see you," she said to him, eyeing two Ravenclaws passing by them in the Entrance hall, "right now in his office." Harry felt a bit triumphed over Hermione's words. He nodded his head quietly, and proceeded to follow the Professor around the halls. When they reached the gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office, she leaned in and whispered the password. The gargoyle, in return, moved aside to let Harry pass. He walked through, up the moving staircase, and into the familiar office.

Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, reading a large sheet of parchment.

"Good evening, Harry," he said kindly as Harry stepped in.

"Hello, Professor."

Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, he had just sent off Minerva to call Harry Potter. He had to leave the feast, when he was informed of an emergency. He didn't even get to taste the pumpkin pie.

He was reading over a letter from the Ministry, when a knocking was heard, and the door opened by itself.

"Good evening, Harry," he said to the nervous boy standing in the doorway.

"Hello, Professor."

"Why don't you come in and sit?" he offered, smiling.

The boy sat down in front of him, he looked so young and out of place.

"Harry," he took a more serious tone. "I have been informed of an attack made by Voldemort and his Death Eaters on a village north of London."

Harry just looked at him curiously.

"Five Muggles were killed, and two witches; one of them was Willow Austin."

"I'm sorry, sir, but why are you telling me this?"

He sighed. He was hoping that Harry would have guessed what he was about to tell him. The boy had a knack for finding those things out, at least some part of them.

He sighed again, smiling somewhat suggestively.

"Would you like a cup of hot chocolate?"

_Once there were four friends, four of the greatest wizards and witches of their time, and I'll go as far as to say ever. Their names were Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin. All being great minds, they saw the need of forming a school: a place in which young wizards and witches will be able to learn magic. And so, the four of them established Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, all wished to teach those with the qualities they each regarded the most: bravery and courage went with Gryffindor, the clever and witted with Ravenclaw, the warm and kind with Hufflepuff, and those with ambition and a cunning mind went with Slytherin. Together, they all completed each other and the school could perform with unity._

_The years went by - as years usually do - the founders grew older, each having an offspring to follow in their wake. For Gryffindor - a son by the name of Alfonso. Benedict was the son of Helga Hufflepuff. Rowena Ravenclaw gave birth to both boy and girl - Fabian and Ariana. Salazar Slytherin had a son called Proteus, and another called Darius._

"And then Slytherin betrayed Gryffindor," Harry said, "I've heard this story before...."

"Not quite, Harry. The story went this way:

_The unity of Hogwarts School didn't last for long – fights broke between the students, the four friends couldn't agree. It was a few years later when Gryffindor heard of Slytherin plotting against him. He decided to act, and killed Proteus, Slytherin's first-born. That day Slytherin declared revenge, and ever since then the Slytherins and Gryffindors were on constant rivalry, as you can see now._

_Alfonso was killed, and Gryffindor had another child to follow his way. And when the time came, the founding fathers came to rest, but the war was still on – for the generations to come the Gryffindors fought the Slytherins. This war between them made it hard for both bloodlines to survive. It went on for ages, and finally a bound was made, five generations previous to this one, that on this generation the war will end, on this generation one side will be victorious, of both honour and power. One ancestry will last, and the other will end._

"On this generation there were only two Gryffindor decedents left, and only one Slytherin—"

"Voldemort," Harry said.

"That is correct," Dumbledore replied. "Willow Austin was a direct decedent of Godric Gryffindor. And you, Harry, are now both the last Potter, and—"

"The last Gryffindor?" Harry's voice was a mere whisper, full of awe.

"Yes, Harry." He couldn't help but smile at the boy. "Josephine Gryffindor married Linus Potter, creating a Potter-Gryffindor bloodline."

"But, sir," Harry started; he was having a hard time digesting this. "Sir.... How can _I_ be the... _heir of Gryffindor_?"

Dumbledore was smiling at him, his eyes twinkling.

Harry was quite for a moment. 'This is impossible,' he thought. 'The heir of Gryffindor.... The heir of Gryffindor – me?'

_Darkness. Cold. A scream is heard. And suddenly a lot of green light. And it is over. But someone still screams; little, terrified screams, muffled by a hand covering the mouth. It's a little girl amidst the darkness. She is crying. She screams. She kicks the man holding her. He whispers, "Crucio!". She screams harder, a bone-chilling scream. A scream full of all the pain in the world. The man smiles satisfied. Then she stops screaming, she doesn't make a sound anymore. A cold voice says, "We leave." The man walks away. The girl is on the floor. Her eyes are closed shut; her face is tear-stained. And in the darkness someone is still screaming._

Harry woke up screaming. He had to bite his lip to stop. His scar was burning; his head was about to explode.

His stomach was filled with fluttering butterflies, as he was pacing in front of the fireplace the next night, telling Ron and Hermione the more important parts of the talk with Dumbledore. All the while he was thinking, 'Me, the heir of Gryffindor! I can't believe it!'

"So," he concluded quietly, looking hopefully at his friends. "I'm the heir of Gryffindor."

The Common Room was silent except for the cracking fire in the fireplace. Everyone else was at dinner in the Great hall, and they took the opportunity to have this conversation.

Harry stopped pacing. He was now standing in front of Ron and Hermione nervously.

"That's brilliant, Harry!" said Hermione excitedly, jumping up and hugging him tightly.

Ron, though, stayed in his seat. He had a weird look on his face. At last, he said quietly, "Yeah, that's great, Harry," and cracked a halfhearted smile.

Harry just looked from his one friend to the other. He didn't know what he expected from them, but that wasn't it.

"Well..." Ron said. "I'm hungry. You think we could still make it to dinner?"

The first Quidditch game was near. George had the team practice every day: they were trying out some new strategies. On this afternoon it started raining about halfway through the practice, yet George insisted they will continue as planned; though an hour or so into it and he decided they practiced enough. They landed and strode, thoroughly exhausted into the locker room, where Katie and Alicia fetched everyone steaming cups of hot chocolate.

"—Overall," George was saying, seeping from his cup, "it was a good practice. Chasers, I want you to work—"

"Doesn't he sound just like Wood?" interrupted Fred, earning himself a shoe to the head from his twin.

"As I was saying," George said, mock-glaring at his brother, and he turned to the girls, "Angelina, Katie, Alicia, try and work on that diversion maneuver."

"You mean the Cerdachescu Hot Potato Spin-off?" asked Katie sweetly.

"Yes, that is what I meant." George was having a very hard time pronouncing the name of the maneuver and the team didn't miss a chance to make fun of him. "Finally," he said formally, turning to the new Keeper, "Kevin, I want you to practice an extra hour every day with one of the Chasers." He eyed Angelina.

"Aye aye, Captain," Angelina said. "I'll train the youngster."

"Thank you, Angelina. Than I think we're through. The Slytherins don't stand a chance."

They walked out of the locker room to the dripping rain. The sky was dark and full of clouds. Cold wind was blowing at their clocks and tossing their hair.

"HARRY!" George called out to the boy who was soaring through the rainy sky. Harry stopped mid air, and looked at them. "Aren't you coming inside?"

"Later," Harry dismissed them, and returned to his flying.

"You sure?" asked Alicia, but wasn't sure if he heard her or not, either way he didn't react.

"Come on, Alicia," said Fred, lacing his hand around her shoulders. "He'll be ok."

Harry decided to stay in the air. He felt free; he was a mere dot in the infinity of the sky, without a care in the world. He had no boundaries, not even those of Quidditch. It was just him and the sky, and the wind rush in his ears.

He closed his eyes, maneuvering his broomstick as expertly as if it was a part of him. He barely noticed the cold raindrops falling on him. He flew up in wide circles, letting the sky devour him, opening his eyes and then closing them again because the wind penetrated the defense of his glasses and made them water. He dropped down as fast as he could holding tightly to the Firebolt, just so he could feel the rush. The wind was blowing at his hair, his heart drumming fast against his ribcage.

When he finally decided he'd had enough of flying, Harry gracefully touched down, and as his feet landed on the ground, all the freedom he had, drifted away, leaving him bound by gravity, by obligations and by destiny.

It had stopped raining, he didn't know when. His breath, accelerated, came out as small puffs of frost. It was past curfew, he regarded, and he should get back to the castle.

Ron was sitting in one of the stuffed armchairs in the Gryffindor Common Room, right near the cozy fire. His eyes stared at the figure of Crookshanks, curled on the hearthrug. All around him people were laughing and shouting, doing their schoolwork, or talking to each other. Usualy he would be one of them, but lately he couldn't avoid this deep feeling that invaded him. It was always there, in some form or another, actually, but now he couldn't push it away, or pretend it wasn't there, maybe he just got tired of it.

Harry was at Quidditch practice; he usually was. How Ron would have given everything just to play for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, not that he had much to give. Harry got to play; it was so unfair. He's been playing since their first year, the youngest seeker in a century, and before he came to Hogwarts he didn't even know what Quidditch was! Not like Ron, he had been playing since he was five years old, and if he could say so himself, he wasn't half bad. But they wouldn't let him play. His own brother didn't think he was good enough.

But Harry played. He wasn't even that good anyway; Ron could probably beat him. Everyone could play good with a firebolt. Yet they let him play. They always let him do things. He was so sick of Harry getting special treatment, just because his... no, he couldn't let himself think _that_. Besides, it wasn't Harry's bloody fault. But... he was so sick of being Harry Potter's best friend. If anyone even spared him a glance it was just because he was blocking their view of Harry, or because he was standing beside Harry and their eyes accidentally fell on him.

Harry was the Quidditch player, just like Charlie, Harry was the hero, Harry was the one battling You-Know-Who, and killing monsters, and attending the Triwizard Tournament, he was the fucking _heir_ of Gryffindor! Why couldn't _he_ be the heir of Gryffindor? His entire family was a Gryffindor. What are the chances that it would be Harry – his mom was a Muggle-born, after all. Mom... funny that he would think of that; his own mom treated Harry better than she did him.

A hand moved in front of his eyes. Ron blinked, and then focused his eyes on the person who was trying to get his attantion. Hermione. He gave he a questioning look.

"Are you alright, Ron?" she said, looking concerned.

"Fine, why should you ask?"

"You look bothered. What's on your mind?"

He knew that she ment well, but he didn't care to tell her what he was thinking about. He was rather embarrassed by thinking all that. "It's nothing, I'm fine," he told her.

"Are you sure?" she said, picking Crookshanks up from the hearthrug and sitting down beside him. "You know you can tell me."

He looked at her, then opened his mouth, not sure was he was going to say. Then he closed his mouth again, because he didn't have anything to say. He studied her face for a minute, she had really beatiful eyes, he always wanted to tell her that. Then he said, "It's nothing really."

She smiled and said, "If you ever want to talk, though...."

He nodded at her. He should tell her she had nice eyes.

They set in silence for a while: Hermione petting Crookshanks, and Ron thinking about things very different from his previous line of thought.

"Hermione?" he said quietly.

"What?" she turned to look at him.

"You have really nice eyes."

She giggled.


	7. Hermione's Plan

**Title**: Nox  
**Author**: Universal Blue  
**Disclaimers**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Summary**: A fifth year AU. Harry has to deal with a new year at Hogwarts, Voldemort coming back, and Draco Malfoy. (future HP/DM)

* * *

Chapter 6 – _Hermione's Plan_

It was a fine Saturday morning. The sun was shining up in the sky, warming the green grass in the lawns around Hogwarts castle; which was washed clean by the rain that subsided only a few hours before. The air was still cool, and strong winds blew at the leaves on the trees in the Forbidden Forest, and causing ripples in the surface of the lake. Birds were singing merrily up on treetops. One grey cat that belonged to a third year Ravenclaw was lying in a safe spot on the grounds, bathing in the warm rays of light. All the grey clouds had disappeared, leaving instead, a clear sky as blue as the ocean. The atmosphere on the grounds was very peaceful and serene.

But nobody cared.

Every Hogwarts student from the bravest Gryffindor to the smartest Ravenclaw, was at the Quidditch pitch, either watching the game from the stands, playing it up in the sky, or annoying Professor McGonagall in one case in particular. After an entire school year without Quidditch, the students were all eager to see their players in action, and since the Slytherin-Griffindor matches were always an exciting event, no one wanted to miss the first game of the season.

"—And Warrington has the Quaffle," announced Lee Jordan's voice to the cheering crowd, reaching even the players above. "Who passes it to Gaiman. Now, remember folks, she is replacing Pucey, who successfully managed to cut off his finger, and can't play. But is she good enough to beat the Gryff—"

"Jordan, please focus on the game," McGonagall's irritated voice was heard.

"Right, Professor, sorry!" Lee answered. "Well, then, the Quaffle is back with Warrington, who is now going for the goals. But Gryffindor has a young new Keeper, who will definitely be able to—owww! That's a goal for Slytherin, then. The score is now is 40/30, with Gryffindor still on the lead, but the Slytherins aren't far behind! Now the cute Katie Bell has the Quaffle. Katie, will you go out with me?"

"JORDAN!"

"Alright, alright – Katie passes to Johnson, who is heading towards the goal hoops, she's gonna throw, and—Ouch! That's gotta hurt! A Bludger, right to the ribs, ladies and gentlemen, sent by one of the bloody animals the Slytherins call their Beaters. Anyway, nice save by Spinnet, and—"

Harry was soaring through the sky again, looking intently for the Snitch. He was well aware of Malfoy flying above, somewhere to his right, also looking for the elusive ball. He had traced it flying right below him ten minutes ago, but he blinked and then it was gone again.

Once again, the crowd cheered loudly, and Harry turned around to see what happened. Apparently, Gryffindor scored again. As he turned around to start searching again, a tiny glint flashed in front him. The Golden Snitch was hovering on the left hand side of the pitch, not so far below him. He turned to Malfoy – the other boy didn't see it yet, this was his chance. He started flying directly towards the Snitch, vaguely aware of Lee Jordan mentioning him, and all eyes turning on him as he flew. He could sense Malfoy not far behind, and urged his broom.

"Look out!!" Lee yelled suddenly, but it was only a second after that Harry could comprehend the words that a Bludger hit him, right in the face, and then the other one – at his side.

"Ow!" he called in agony, stopping midair. Malfoy collided with him, only mildly though, for he probably managed to brake in time.

Harry shoved the Bludgers aside, but with all the commotion, the Snitch disappeared again. He turned around, rubbing his sore face, looking once more for the Snitch.

The game was pretty quiet for a while. Some goals were made; some were stopped; now Slytherin was on the lead. Harry was anxious to find the Snitch and get this bloody game over with. He turned around with his broom, flying in the other direction, and again, he spotted the Snitch not far by. He looked around at Malfoy, who obviously saw the Snitch too, for he was speeding up in that direction. Harry immediately urged his broom towards the golden ball. Malfoy reached him; they were now diving neck to neck.

"Looks like the Seekers spotted the Snitch," announced Lee Jordan's voice, and Harry could feel hundreds of eyes turn to him.

The blood was pounding in his ears. 'Come on, come on!' he repeated in his head. 'Come on!' He was clutching the broom handle so hard that he was sure it would leave a mark. A Bludger passed by him, and he barely managed to dodge it. He thought that the other one must have hit Malfoy, because the Slytherin groaned and wavered a bit, but kept on flying. They were so close to the Snitch, Harry could feel it in his hand. 'Come on!' he urged his broom just a little faster. His heart surely would burst any second.

Then he did it. His hand wrapped around the little ball, and he could feel the tiny wings flutter against his hand. Emerging from his dive, Harry sighed with relief. He won!

"The score is 240/100!" screamed Lee Jordan, jumping up and down. "Gryffindor wins!!"

The crowd was cheering so loudly. Harry swept a wide grin at them. Then suddenly he felt something hit him square in the chest. A Bludger. His face screwed up in pain, and his hand still clutched tightly on the Snitch, he landed quickly on the ground. His teammates also landed beside him, George emerging from his winning spin around the pitch.

"You ok, Harry?" asked him Angelina from the growing crowd of celebrating Gryffindors.

"Fine," Harry said, rubbing his ribs.

She smiled at him. "Great catch!" she said. But then she was dragged away by Katie Bell.

"Harry!!" Hermione and Ron jumped at him, hugging him tightly.

"Aw! Don't do that!" said Harry sharply, backing away and gripping his ribs.

"Sorry," Hermione said. "You should go to Madam Pomfrey about that."

"Yeah.... I'm fine...." Harry said, glaring at Goyle, who apparently was the one to send that Bludger at him, for Madam Hooch was shouting at him. He spotted Malfoy, who was also being yelled at, by his Captain, for not winning, Harry presumed.

"Great game everyone!" George said, as they were all about to leave the Locker room. "It wasn't easy, but we won, and I'm very proud of you all," he made as if he were wiping away a stray tear. "From this week we practice two or three times a week. Gotta stay fit for the game against Hufflepuff."

"George, that's three months away!" exclaimed Katie.

"That's right! They have almost a whole new team and we've got to be ready."

The team sighed, as they left the Locker room, everyone else already got back to the castle, celebrating their first win of the year. Once in the castle, Harry parted from his team, and went to the Hospital Wing; where, to his surprise, sitting on a bed was—

"Malfoy?"

"If it isn't Saint Potter," Malfoy acknowledged him with resentment.

Malfoy had his hand clutching at the side of his neck, where Harry could clearly see a purple bruise showing from underneath. Bludger, he thought. Malfoy was hit by a Bludger when they were diving for the Snitch. His other hand was trailing on the white covers on the bed, his silvery blond hair lightly falling to his face.

Harry stepped in, and looked around – Madam Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen. Only Malfoy and himself occupied the room. Sitting down on a chair, he turned his attention to the Slytherin again.

"Nice game," he cracked.

Malfoy turned to look at him again, with a cold air, "I'm going to beat you next time, Potter."

A smirk twisted the sides of Harry's mouth. "Like you could ever beat me. Face it, Malfoy, I'm just better than you."

Malfoy snorted. Harry was satisfied to see his face twist somewhat with anger. Harry thought he was about to say something, but he didn't. Narrowing his eyes he turned to look at the bed again.

"You're not good enough to be that arrogant," Malfoy said finally.

"Mr. Malfoy—!" Harry startled, and looked up to see Madam Pomfrey coming out of her office. "Here," she said, attending his neck, "this will help you." She spread some green ointment on the bruise, and Malfoy flinched. "Now wait a few minutes, and you'll be as good as ever. I can't believe they're letting you children play such dangerous games. Now, swallow this." She pulled a small vial out of a pocket and poured its contents into Malfoy's mouth. Malfoy looked a bit greenish, but swallowed anyway.

Then she turned around and spotted Harry. "You," she said. "What is it now?"

"My ribcage," Harry choked, putting his hand on the sore spot. "Bludger."

Sighing, she turned to him, "Let me see, now. Take off your sweater." Harry hesitated, but she urged him, "Come on, come on now!"

Glaring at Malfoy, who was still staring at the bed, Harry took off his sweater, shivering in the chilly air, and then from Madam Pomfrey's cold hands, checking his broken ribs. Then Madam Pomfrey disappeared for a second, leaving Harry to look grudging at the floor, while shaking from the cold. She was back a second later stabbing her wand at Harry's ribs, muttering an incantation.

Instantly Harry could feel his ribs growing into shape, attaching themselves together. Warmth spread throughout his body – starting from the point where Madam Pomfrey's wand touched it. He shot her a greatful smile, as he already felt much better.

"Now, Mr. Malfoy," she turned back to Malfoy "How are you feeling?" she cleared the ointment, which by now had turned yellow, with a wave of her wand, revealing clear skin.

"I'm fine."

"Good, then you may leave now. You too, Potter," she glared at Harry, who had just finished pulling on his sweater.

They both left at the same time.

Before departuring, Malfoy turned to Harry and drawled, "Next time I'll beat you. Mark my words, Potter."

Harry stayed there for a moment, glaring at Malfoy's retreating form.

"You can't win," he said quietly. "You won't."

Draco was lying on his bed, his face turned to the roof of his hangings. He was thinking about Potter. Damn Potter, he always had to win! He, himself, was a great flyer, Father always told him so. But Potter had to ruin that for him as well. Draco hated everything about him – from his chip shoes to that damn scar on his forehead. He didn't see at all why the Dark Lord would want anything to do with Potter; he should have killed him last year when he had the chance.

Potter had some nerve to refuse the Dark Lord's proposal. How could he ever think he was better than it? How could he think he can win this war? This was not a stupid Quidditch game. Potter was maybe lucky a few times, but his luck will run out eventually. Just then, when his luck will run out, Draco will be waiting for him around the corner. He will give the oh-so-mighty Harry Potter to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord will be pleased with him, and Father will be pleased as well. Draco smirked.

The door to his dormitory flung open, and in came the sound of shuffling feet.

"Draco?" Goyle's thick voice was heard. "Are you coming to dinner?"

"Yes, yes..." Draco got out of his bad and followed his crony.

They entered the Great Hall, which was already filled with chattering students. Draco sat down between Crabb and Goyle, and stared at the food on the table. Slowly, he extended his hand and grabbed a plate containing some food or another; he didn't really care.

He looked up at the Gryffindor Table, and saw Potter sitting there, speaking merrily to his Weasel friend. Some random Gryffindor that passed by him stopped to congratulate him for the game. Potter laughed at something she said, then he looked up and his eyes caught Draco's. The smile that was on Potter's lips stayed just a mere second as he looked at Draco, until his brain caught up with his eyes and he frowned.

'Potter,' Draco thought, returning to his food. 'Why do you always have to get yourself into these messes?'

"So, we all agree?"

Hermione looked around at everyone smiling, satisfied. Hanna Abott nodded, returning her smile, next to her Angelina Johnson also nodded. Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet were whispering something. Cho Chang nodded, to her right; Padma Patil was trying to convince her twin – Parvati to agree, with the help of Lavender Brown. Susan Bones, Sarah Stebbins and Eloise Midgen from Hufflepuff all looked a bit relieved. In general, there was an air of agreement.

"If this is all, then this meeting is adjourned. We'll start with the plan on Monday, and the next meeting is next week, here, at the same time."

With that everyone got up chattering, all going back to their respective Houses. Hermione stayed a bit behind, gathering her parchment sheets.

It had been their second meeting so far, and it seemed like things were going the right way. They were planning to rebel against Professor Benton's sexist ways; since there was no point in being at his class, they wouldn't go at all.

She talked around to girls from other Houses, only fifth, sixth and seventh years for now, and they decided to group together. Their now free time will be devoted to actual studying of Defense Against the Dark Arts. And the next stage, if everything goes as planned, will be to form a petition, which they will give to Professor McGonagall, demanding to learn just like the boys do.

She smiled to herself. They'll show Professor Benton. They can be just as good.

"Harry?" said a small voice.

Harry looked up from his _Quidditch Through the Ages_ to see Hermione standing in front of him.

"Could I speak to you?"

"Sure," Harry said, putting the book aside, and moving to make room for Hermione to sit beside him. "What about?"

She took the seat, sighing.

"Harry," her brown eyes met his, trying to tell him something without words. "Did you think about that heir-of-Gryffindor-business?"

He laughed slightly.

"What's to think about? I couldn't change it, even if I wanted to."

"True, but, Harry, did you ever stop to think about the consequences? Do you know what that means?"

"I do," he answered quietly, averting his eyes from hers.

"You'll have to fight You-Know-Who," she said flatly. "Do you think you can handle it?"

Harry sighed and returned his gaze to her. "What does it matter? It's inevitable - It will happen whether I'm up to it or not."

"Even though, Harry, you can't go into war unprepared."

"What else is there to do?"

"Anything, everything you can. You should talk to Dumbledore."

"I will, I promise," he said, and smiled at her. He stood up, taking his book. "I think I'll go to sleep now." Stretching, he yawned her a good night.

"I just don't want to see you dead," she whispered after him, sighing.

It was three weeks later that found Hermione in Dumbledore's office. Her plan had worked better than she expected – no one wanted to be the only girl to come to class, and so, as word spread around, almost all of them participated in the plan. Tutoring each other was a good idea, as Hermione learned from their meetings; they all very much appreciated it.

The plan had also caught the Headmaster's eye, and he requested that Hermione would meet with him in his office. Hermione immediately called up an urgent meeting, where they formed the petition, which she was clutching in her hand right now.

She handed the Headmaster said petition, her hand shaking just a bit. The old wizard scanned it from behind his half moon spectacles, and then he smiled at her.

"Very well," he said, and opened one of the drawers in his desk. "Miss Granger, could I offer you sherbet lemon?"

She looked him square in the eye, considering. "I would like one very much," she said.

After an hour or so they reached an agreement.

"I can't believe you would let someone like that teach us," Hermione took a sip off her tea.

"Dear child, you can't choose whom to be raised by, and unfortunately Charles Benton was raised by his bitter, old fashioned father."

"Yet..."

"He was a brilliant student. Ravenclaw, graduated with twelve OWL's." He looked thoughtful for a minute, and then perked up, as if suddenly remembering that Hermione was there. "You know what I heard?" he said, his eyes twinkling. "Some people seem to believe that the position of the Defense against the Dark Arts Professor is cursed."

"Yeah..." Hermione sighed. She got to her feet, smiling somewhat bitterly. "It was nice doing business with you, sir."

Dumbledore got to his feet as well, and shook her hand. "As well, Miss Granger."

She left his office with a wonderful feeling. The headmaster had agreed to have a talk with Professor Benton. He promised that the girls would get back to fully studying. Hermione promised that all the girls would show up to classes. Maybe she'll be able to make Professor Benton see things the right way.


	8. Enemies and Alcohol

**Title**: Nox  
**Author**: Universal Blue  
**Disclaimers**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Summary**: A fifth year AU. Harry has to deal with a new year at Hogwarts, Voldemort coming back, and Draco Malfoy. (future HP/DM)

* * *

**Chapter 7 – _Enemies and Alcohol_**

Draco strode into the Library, followed by his cronies – Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Behind them walked Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode. They were there for the purpose of working on the Transfiguration project McGonagall assigned them to. Unfortunately for Draco, he was stuck in the project with said Slytherins. But he would think of how to work this to his best, there is no doubt about that.

While the other four sitted themselves in one of the Library tables, Draco kept walking. He stepped between the aisles in search of the right books for their project. He pulled out a book that looked promising, entitled _Transfiguration Without The Tantrums _by Morpheus McKnight. His grey eyes traveled from title to title, until another one caught his eye – _Transfiguration for Dummies_ by Anna Coney. He smirked, thinking of Crabbe and Goyle, and took the book with him as well. He gathered a few more books, and just when he was about done, he saw something curious.

At one of the tables in the corner of the Library was Harry Potter. A few scrolls of parchment lied on his table, and a couple of open books were on it too. There was a quill somewhere near his right hand, but he wasn't holding it. In fact, he wasn't doing anything at all. His head lay on his arms, on the table, and Draco was fairly sure he was asleep. A smirk spread on his pale, pointed face, and he moved towards Potter's table cautiously.

Potter was definitely asleep; Draco could hear his steady breathing. He set down across from Potter, and then dropped his pile of books on the table, causing a loud noise. Potter woke up with a start.

"Argh! What's—" he stopped, and straightened his glasses, glaring at Draco. "Malfoy," his tone was full of malice, making the evil grin on Draco's face grow wider.

"Sleeping in the Library, Potter? I see you're living on the edge. Think of what Madam Pinch will do to you if she catches you."

Potter just glared at him, and in a futile attempt to ignore Draco, returned to his essay.

"Do you know who I saw today, Potter?"

There was only the sound of quill scratching parchment from Potter's side of the table.

"Your friend, Weasel," Draco answered the question that wasn't asked.

At this Potter stopped writing, and Draco knew he got his attention.

"Did you see that his robes don't fit anymore? I asked him about it. He got really angry. You should have seen his face, he looked like a freckled tomato – I laughed about it for hours later."

There was still no reaction from Potter. His head was bent down, but Draco noticed that his quill was making a whole in the parchment, so he kept on going.

"You've been to that dump he calls 'home', haven't you? Tell me, do they starve him there? With the amounts of food he eats here, you'd think the boy never sa—"

"Shut it, Malfoy," Potter's tone was of one that was on the verge of throwing sharp pointy things at someone, but had just enough self control to stay calm. "Go away."

But Draco wouldn't go. He wanted to stay until Potter will crack.

"It's really sad, isn't it? You know that the Minister lets Weasley's fh—" Potter's hand reached into his pocket to grab his wand. "Tsk, tsk," Draco said, smiling. "You don't want to do that, Potter. Someone might think you're picking up fights."

Potter let go of his wand and entwined his hands. He didn't speak, just stared at Draco in the eye. After a minute a he said, "You're just jealous."

"Of Weasel?!" Draco spluttered. "You really have gone nutters, haven't you, Potter?"

"Bugger being an only child, isn't it? You wish you had a family that loves you like Ron's does."

"You'd know, wouldn't you? I, at least, have my parents, and no, I don't care to share them with anyone. Or their money," he added as an after thought.

"Merlin!" Potter said, rolling his eyes. "Money isn't _everything_, Malfoy."

"Sure it isn't," Draco answered, with a tone that clearly indicated that he thought it very much was.

"Friends," Potter said. "You can't buy friends with money."

"True; Money can't buy you friends, but it can get you a better class of enemy."

"Gee, Malfoy." Potter rolled his eyes. "I never knew you considered me of better class."

"No, Potter," Draco smirked. "I never knew you considered me the enemy."

And before Potter said anything farther, Draco grabbed his pile of books, and retreated to his own table.

---------

Draco got back to the four dimwits he left behind. They were sitting at the table, gossiping about the latest hot rumours.

"Are you sure?" Pansy half squealed, as quietly as she could, looking worriedly at Madam Pinch.

"Yes, I'm sure! Willow Twonk saw them herself!" said Bulstrode, smirking.

"I heard that he had his pants off when they found him," said Crabbe, who was sitting across from the girls.

"Well, people, shall we get to work, or do you want to talk about Bones and Nott all day?" said Draco, as he reached them.

"Draco," said Parkinson. "Do you really want to know the answer for that one?"

"You're right," Draco said, "I don't. I want to finish this thing as soon as we can. Now, you three," he said, turning to Crabbe, Goyle, and Bulstrode. "Read these books, and summarize." He slipped said books towards them. "Parkinson, since you have the nicest hand-writing here, you will write the text that we'll present."

After giving out the orders, Draco stretched in his seat, and started checking his fingernails.

"And, pray tell, what will you do, Draco?" asked Millicent.

"I will do the spell, of course," Draco said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Parkinson can help me with the presentation."

Then, they all got to their work. That is, Crabbe, Goyle and Bulstrode started reading, and summarizing. Parkinson just set there and did nothing. Draco, on his part, opened The GREAT Tortoise Book and started reading. It really was great. About 2400 pages.

Each group was assigned a spell they needed to work on. They had to turn in to McGonagall a full report on the spell, how it works, the theory, possible mistakes, side-affects, and such. Then they had to present the report to the class, and perform the spell.

Draco's group had to transfigure a turtle into a blue woolen cap. This shouldn't be much work; all he had to do was go over the theory. He raised his eyebrow at Parkinson who was looking at him.

---------

He was standing by the window. Outside, the sky was already dark. Things weren't going as planned. He should have gotten it by now; instead the time was being wasted. If it won't happen soon, blood would be shed.

A crow cracked outside, almost unseen against the night sky. The Dark Lord pointed his wand at it and whispered, "_Avada Kedavra_." The green light hit the bird, and it fell lifeless onto the ground.

---------

Christmas was at Hogwarts. The grounds were white with snow and the lake was frozen over. Despite the cold atmosphere outside, inside Hogwarts the feeling was warm. There were Christmas decorations all around the halls. The Great hall was decorated with the usual twelve Christmas trees. Of the few students that stayed in Hogwarts, young couples were seen kissing in the halls, while the teachers completely looked away.

Ron had left to spend the holyday with his family. Charlie, Bill and Percy were coming home. Harry was left alone in the dormitory, except for Seamus, who, as Harry found out just now, was seeing a forth year girl from Ravenclaw. In fact, that was the reason why Harry was sitting in the Common Room right now, staring out the window. Seamus practically pushed him out of the door.

He leaned his head on the window. It was raining outside. Drops of water were sliding slowly down the cool glass of the window. From his other side, the fire in the grate was keeping Harry warm.

Harry loved Christmas at Hogwarts. It was definitely better than the alternative of spending it at the Dursleys'. But somehow this Christmas was different. Harry felt lonely, but he didn't want anyone's company. He felt cold and empty, as if there was a void inside of him, a black hole sucking all his feelings. He considered going to the Library to find Hermione, but figured she'd make him study, and he really didn't want to right now.

Hermione.... Ever since she talked to him a few weeks ago, her words never left his head. _What if he dies?_ Harry escaped death so many times until now that some tiny part of him played with the thought that he is invincible. Not that he was, of course, it was silly. He will die, probably sooner than later.

---------

Christmas Eve. Draco was wandering the halls, clutching an Odgen's Old Firewhisky bottle in his hand as if it was the most important thing in the world. The bottle was already opened, but it was almost full, as he only took a few sips out of it. It was a Christmas present from Father. Dear old Father knew exactly what sixteen year old boys wanted. The note attached to the present said: _Happy Christmas Draco. Don't spend it all on one girl._ Draco smirked as he read this. It was a minor consolation – his parents had to leave to France on his father's "business", and Draco couldn't come along, because they left before the holidays started. Never mined, he'll have a fun Christmas. He'll make sure of that.

But not now. Now all he wanted was to be alone, and drink his Firewhisky till obliviation.

He reached his destination. It was a room on the fourth floor, which was never locked. Draco didn't know why, and just appreciated the convenient place to be alone. He opened the door, and to his surprise the room was already occupied.

"Potter," Draco said, annoyed. "What are you doing here?" _Why do you have to be everywhere I look?___

Potter looked easily at Draco, and then back at the floor.

"Sitting," he said flatly.

Draco rolled his eyes. He set down against the wall Potter was leaning on, though as far away as he could. He wouldn't let Potter win, and if it meant being in the same room as the annoying git, than so be it. He glared at Potter through narrowed eyes.

Silence ruled the room for a while. Potter was apparently deep in thought, while Draco was slowly drinking his Firewhisky.

"What did you mean?" Potter suddenly said, his voice echoing in the room. "That day in the Library."

Draco thought back and smiled. "When I said that you'd be lucky to get a squib to date you? I meant that you are so—"

"That's not what I meant," Potter said, irritably.

"Than you'll have to be more specific, Potter. I cannot guess what you're bloody thinking."

"Never mind," said Potter, sighing.

Draco took a sip off his Firewhiskey. He looked back at Potter, who seemed preoccupied once more. He rolled his eyes and turned to look at the bottle in his hand, which was now starting to get lighter.

After a while Potter talked, "Where did you get that?" Draco almost jumped. The voice was much closer than before. He looked at Potter who was still sitting with his back against the wall, but now he was about a foot away from himself. His eyes were turned to Draco.

"None of your business," Draco snapped.

Thoughtful silence, then, "Can I have some?"

Draco glanced at the bottle again, and then he reached out reluctantly to let Potter take it.

Potter took a sip off the Firewhisky, and his face cringed, a few tears slipping from the corners of his eyes. Draco smirked at this. After he calmed down a bit Potter drank again from the red glass bottle. Annoyed, Draco snatched it from him, and drank some himself.

"Do you reckon, Malfoy... you think I'm going to die?" Potter asked out of the blue. His voice was as casual as he could make it, and he was looking longingly at the Firewhisky.

"Not in the next few hours," Draco answered calmly. "So I wouldn't worry about it."

Silence, again. That's all there was – only silence. Words were uttered, but eventually silence had to come back.

---------

"You seriously didn't know?!"

Potter shook his head. Draco was vaguely aware of the fact that the large bottle of Firewhisky was getting lighter by the moment, but the thought vanished immediately as another one resumed his mind. He started laughing. Potter started laughing as well. His laughter was full and sincere, and it echoed in the room.

Potter didn't know why Draco was laughing, but he was laughing anyway. Maybe he could read Draco's mind. Draco had no idea why, but apples were really funny this time of the year.

"Where were we?" Draco asked, when he finally managed to stop laughing.

Potter thought hard for a minute, then he cracked a smile. "Snape," he said, "And the clothes he sleeps with."

"You mean, the _lack_ of clothes he sleeps with," Draco corrected, and took another swig from the Firewhisky. He automatically held the bottle to Potter so he could drink too.

Potter drank from the now almost empty bottle. He held the cold glass to his lips, leaning on it. He laughed a bit again, then said lightly, "I don't want to die."

Draco thought about that for a while, but couldn't seem to find something to say in reply. "You're... reeeeally obsessed with death," he said finally.

Potter shook his head and took another swig from the drink. He shook the bottle to check it's contents and handed it to Draco, who gratefully took a sip. Potter fell silent.

It was after a while that Draco felt something on him. It was Potter's hand, clutching his arm. He immediately tensed. Draco looked over at Potter – his head was bent down, his eyes shut, and he was biting his lip. Draco had no idea what to do, so he just set there, letting Potter get through what ever it was. Draco could hear his own steady breathing.

Then Potter let go of his hand. "Sorry," he murmured, as he got up to his feet. On retrospection, Draco thought that Potter had been acting much more sober than he should have had. Quickly, he got out of the room. Draco stayed sitting, drinking his Firewhisky.

---------

'Bloody Malfoy,' Harry thought passionately as he strode through the halls. He didn't feel so smashed now, nor did he feel happy anymore. 'Bloody Hermione,' he cursed. 'Bloody Voldemort, bloody Dumbledore! Bloody Malfoy. That... that git, coming here, thinking he is so great, and so evil, and so freaking annoying!'

The halls were deserted, it was about one a.m. Soon Harry found himself in front of the painting of The Fat Lady, who was quietly snoring, leaning against her frame.

"Glumbumble," he said, loud enough to wake her.

The Fat Lady glared at him sleepily for a moment, then moved to let him in.

---------

The light rain that was dropping just half an hour ago was rapidly becoming stronger. Heavy drops of water fell onto the ground with great force, then shattered. The wind was blowing so hard that it's loud whistling scared some of the younger students. Harry was sitting in the Common room with a book in his lap, though he wasn't really reading it. Instead, he was staring intently at the roaring fire in the fireplace.

It was somewhere near the end of the Christmas holydays. Time had just flown by, as Harry spent most of it with Hermione, or in the Common room, doing his homework. Harry figured that things didn't go so well for Seamus and that Ravenclaw, because He saw him just yestarday with another girl. He didn't bother asking. Malfoy he didn't see much after that night with the Firewhisky. When he did see him, Harry always looked away.

He went down a few times to the Quidditch pitch, to practice his flying, even though his next game was in February. Once, when he went down there, the pitch was already occupied. Malfoy. It always was him, after all. Harry stood where he was when he spotted the Slytherin, and looked at him fly for a minute.

There was something elegant in the way Malfoy flew; changing directions with the slightest of adjustments. Flying as if he was born with a broomstick in his hand. His pale face and hair stood out against the black night sky, emphasized by the dark robes he was wearing. Maybe, Harry thought, he _was_ competition. But Harry would never tell him that. He turned around and walked back towards the castle.

Harry blinked. He realized that he was staring into a pair of brown eyes. The eyes, of course, belonged to Hermione. She was looking at him with concern. Always concern it was these days. He smiled at her feebly, and did as if he was reading his book.

---------

Draco was flying. He loved to fly, he found it liberating. The cold wind was striking his face, ruffling his hair. His eyes were closed, and he felt as if he was somewhere else, far away, where there was no Dark Lord, no Hogwarts, no Potter; only him and the infinite sky.

He opened his eyes, and breathed in deeply. Then he saw him. Potter. He was walking towards the pitch. _Damn him!_ Draco thought fiercely. When he finally managed to drop Crabbe (Goyle went home for Christmas) and have a moment of peace, here he was – Potter, came to ruin it for him.

Draco kept on flying, ignoring Potter's presence. After a few minutes, glancing in Potter's direction, he was relieved to see that Potter was gone.

What was he thinking about? He couldn't remember.


End file.
